Can't turn back the tides
by silkechan
Summary: What will happen when Asami and Akihito will return from Hong Kong? And what will FeiLong do? And what if the past will set an ambush for them? Chracters: FeiLong; Asami, Akihito OC. Note: 60% FeiLong and Ocs centric and 40% AxA centric
1. Black Rain

_**Can**__**'t turn back the tides**_ by Silke_chan

**Chapter 1 ****– ..:: **_**Kiss the rain ::..**_

Standing in front of the glass wall of his dim office, FeiLong stared at the Hong Kong's night skyline, but he wasn't really watching. He knew where every single light, every single shadow and every single shape of that landscape was; he paid the familiar sight no notice, lost somewhere else.

The door opened behind him and, without turning, he saw the man entering in the reflection of the glass. The newcomer sat on an armchair, long legs overlapped.

"You're welcome Asami…wouldn't you like to sit?" he asked the man sarcastically, still watching outside, just receiving the man's trademark half-smirk in reply.

A low sigh escaped FeiLong's lips as he closed his eyes on the well-known landscape, only to open them again on Asami after turning to him.

"How is he doing?" he asked with a flat look, though a little shadow in his eyes betrayed, just for a moment, the true apprehension behind the mask.

"He'll be fine, that guy is tougher than you'd think," the Yakuza answered, crushing the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray on the low table in front of him. He rose and approached FeiLong.

"I should kill you for taking something that belongs to me, and letting him get captured _and_ hurt…" the words were pronounced in a slow tone, the tone was composed, the face was unconcerned, but the narrowed eyes and the golden irises which were dangerously turning to a dark brown made it obvious that it wasn't only an impressive sentence, but the admission of an idea that Asami had seriously contemplated just a few small minutes ago.

FeiLong parted his lips for a moment, wanting to reply to what he just heard, but changed his mind, closing them again. His gaze never faltered, even for one instant, standing Asami's glare.

A slight smile broke the tension on the older man's face. He shifted his sight to the nocturnal lights of Honk Kong for a moment, thenturned back to the younger man in front of him.

"It's been a while since we could talk without sharp glances, sarcastic words…and bullets."

For an instant, a veiled smile appeared on the Chinese's lips too, but his expression returned immediately to serious and demure; Asami's closeness made him feel uncomfortable, a sensation he had always hated from the bottom of his heart.

"The offer you made me this morning, was it real?" he asked, moving away from Asami's side, to lean against the back of one of the was hoping that the physical distance would cancel that annoying feeling, too.

"Of course, I'm always serious about business, FeiLong," Asami answered, lighting another cigarette. "I need support here, in China, and it will also be convenient for you to have an ally such as me in Japan…that was true 7 years ago, and it still is now. If you really want to break off relations with the past, then…"

"I already know your opinion about our _joint past_, Asami. You gently explained it to me while jabbing a gun into my back some days ago…" the Chinese replied, waving a hand in an annoyed manner, "and moreover, if I brought the topic up, it means I'm considering it carefully. I just hope you're aware that I'm no longer the one you met 7 years ago…try to keep it in mind…."

"Well, I like the beautiful boy I met seven years ago very much…" Asami replied cattily, with his usual smirk, "but I have to say, you're not bad even now…"

The sharp reply and the nasty look he expected from FeiLong never came, and Asami's eyebrow rose in mild surprise.

"If it's true that we are no more like we were, it's also true that we'll never know how we would have been if…" FeiLong whispered, as though he was talking more to himself than to Asami.

"FeiLong, now that's not…"

"I'll think about it carefully, Asami. I'll be in Tokyo in seven days for other transactions, and you'll have your answer." Reestablishing a high, firm tone of voice, FeiLong stopped Asami's eventual reply.

They stared at each other silently for some moments, then Asami moved towards the low crystal table to crush the cigarette on the ashtray, now that it was nothing but a butt.

FeiLong didn't follow him with his eyes, being more attracted by the little taps on the glass, and returning to watch the blurred landscape through the thickening rain.

"FeiLong?" Asami asked, laying a hand on the forearm of the other.

FeiLong lowered his eyes to Asami's hand, then raised them to his face again.

"Uhm…yes? I'm just a bit tired…it's been two days since we slept, if I am not wrong…" he murmured.

"No, you are not…" the Yakuza replied, letting the other's arm free, putting his hands in his pockets and making his way towards the door. As he reached it, he turned back. "I'm going, so you'll be free to rest; I need to do so as well…tomorrow I'm going to bring Akihiko home…if you want to greet him, we're going to leave at 10 o'clock…"

"Thank you for this kind grant, Asami," responded the other, raising an eyebrow and giving Asami an ironic, little smile.

In return, he got Asami's famous half grin. "I won't always be this generous, let's make it clear, FeiLong."

"No doubt about that," FeiLong replied, returning to the rain, which had become roaring by now. Without turning to the older man, he added, "Asami, before you go, can you please turn off the light? Thank you…"

As soon as the room fell into the dark, and he could hear the noise of the door closing and Asami's steps in the corridor to fade away, FeiLong went towards the glass wall.

The Thousand City's lights were now only indistinct spots behind the water blancket.

The frantic events of the last three days to seek, find, recover Akihito, and put back the Arbatovs into their place, had obliged Asami and him to cooperate, willy-nilly, so they had reached the agreement to come, once and for all, to an _armistice_.

A logical, calculated and profitable choice… of course! Like all Asami's initiatives …

Unfortunately, FeiLong was not so sure that it was easy for him to wipe the slate clean despite the last seven years of his life. Years in which he had cultivated his _need _of vengeance and his hatred for Asami.

Revenge is a bond, and hatred is a feeling…. To leave _that_ bond and _that_ feeling, what does it mean? To erase every possible bond and feeling, or turn them into another kind of bond and…feeling? He couldn't answer that question yet.

*******

Rumi Matsunaga got off her car and cast a grim glance at the rain, which was coming down profusely. The woman gave her keys to the _Club Sio__n_'s security guard who came promptly to give her an umbrella.  
She headed straight inside, greeting the other guard who was standing next the door with a nod of her head. He answered with a respectful bow.

Rumi was a 45-year-old, distinguished lady. If Asami's _job_ had included only lawful business, you could say that she was his most trusted collaborator. There was no legal activity of Asami's which did not pass from her hands. She, on the other hand, had no idea about what her boss's _other _business were_, _even though she knew that these activities existed.

It was 9.00 a.m., and that morning she should have been in a meeting with the engineers to discuss the building of a new residential area; instead, she was called urgently to Club Sion because of a _minor _problem. She was infuriated.

Rumi walked in leaps and bounds through the ground floor's corridor, her image refleted in the mirror-covered walls, to reach the first floor, towards lounge bar. Before stepping inside, she looked at herself in one of the big mirrors and sighed.

Asami-sama would have been there from China that afternoon … She would have preferred that he had already returned from Hong Kong!

With another sigh, the woman entered the room, greeting Kaory Wakanae, the staff director, with a little bow of her head. Kaory was giving instructions to the clean-up crew.

Rumi headed to the live music area, where she caught sight of the person who had caused her unexpected trip to Club Sion. He was sitting at the piano playing a merry melody.

The director reached her and greeted her with a bow. Kaori reported that _he_ had arrived about an hour ago asking for Asami-sama. After Kaory said that Asami-sama was not there, he stubbornly refused to leave _"Until someone tells me where __he is__ or when I could find him __here,"_ he had said, with his disarming smile.

Rumi turned her gaze to the boy. He had changed a little since the last time she saw him; for example, his hair was longer now. But his full lips posed in what seemed a never-ending childlike grouch and the eyes of a singular color, deep brown with small golden slivers, were unmistakable. His dressing style was unmistakable as well: jeans and shirt, both strictly branded and expensive.

"Hikaru-kun…" Rumi called his attention, approaching him.

"Rumi-san…" he said, rising and bowing his head slightly to greet her.

"I don't know how to answer to your question…" She cut the matter short, not even pretending that what she had just said was not a lie.

"Obviously…." he said, sitting again on the piano stool, with calm expression.

Rumi gritted her teeth; Hikaru's compliance worried her...

The brat had always been whimsical, and in spite of the fact that he was 22, he was insistent and stubborn like a spoiled child. Probably he perceived that this time, what held Asami back was not the usual business problems or his amusement at doing what Hikaru most hated—ignoring him. It was something different.

A grin grewon Rumi's lips. _Why is Rumi grinning here?_

She didn't know Takaba-kun well, even though she was aware about his existence in Asami-sama's life. She strongly hoped that with Takaba in his mind, Asami-sama had finally decided relieve himself of Hikaru.... and relieve Rumi herself of him, as a logical consequence. _Who is Takaba-kun? =)_

"Considering that you are useless, Matsunaga-san, I'm leaving…." he added after some moments of thinking cap.

He rose and, passing beside the woman and not deigning to give her any other attention, he went straight to the exit.

The woman controlled her irritation with difficulty, but she was not able to avoid the blush on her cheeks.

She hated that dirty brat heartily, and she hated even more him, because of she did not understand. She did not understand why Asami-sama paid for the luxury house where Hikaru lived; for the expensive car he drove; for the branded clothes he wore; for the several journey around the world he made; and for all the other stupid whims he followed.

She was diverted from her thoughts by the roar of a thunder. Looking outside, Rumi strongly hoped that an errant lightning should remove that disrespectful boy forever from Asami-sama's liking, and mostly from her own life!

Hikaru exited Club Sion, hands in the back pockets of his snug jeans, and headed to his black Mercedes SLK, which was parked a block away, careless about the rain that fell thickly around him.

All of a sudden, he stopped and turned, throwing a glance toward the windows of the first floor of Club Sion.

"My dear Rumi, you're sure that soon you can get rid of me… I am so sorry to disappoint you, but I am the one who will get rid of _everyone_ who endangers my status… "And he smiled, with a scary golden glint in his eyes.


	2. Jealousy

**Chapter 2 - ..:: Jealousy ::.. **

_Akihito's head was resting on Asami's chest while the older man slept. Making love the way they made it the night when they met again, was for him more "complicated" than any other night._

_It was like in what they were doing there should be "something". This could be maybe the need to remember how it was "before", or maybe the fear of discovering that something had changed. Irreparably._

_Sex deletes pieces of life and seems to let he things start again from where they were finished, with head empty of thoughts, but full of lips, hands, groans, pain, pleasure, desperation, skin._

_ His body filled, his head filled. _

_For Akihito, making love that night was if the pages of his diary, in which he wrote every single painful moment of the past hopeless days, had shrivelled up. In the end, when the sheets were stretched up again, some of the words on them were lost in the wrinkles. Erased. And with them, also, pieces of the sorrowful memories. _

_And Akihito was there, with his head resting on Asami's chest, while the older man slept ... and his hand was roaming the other body, on the chest, the legs, the manhood, arms, lips and again on his chest. And this because, in the dark, the phtographer wanted to be sure that it was him, Asami._

Akihito batted his eyelids. The pain in his wounded shoulder woke him from memories of the previous night. Unfortunately, the young man could not release himself from the discomfort to think that the "different" feeling he felt last night was simply the desire to want to believe that nothing had happened. To believe that he never left Tokyo, that he did not look beyond FeiLong's mask and see his pain, that he had not been nearly killed by the Russians, that dozens of men were not killed to let him be there that night, in Asami's arms.

Akihito sighed and approached the half-open door, catching sight of Asami, who was giving instructions to his men. He felt immediately better: it was Asami that gave him this feeling.

The photographer laughed at himself. Only a fool could consider Asami's proximity a relief!

But he was probably one of those who felt the need to return to the hell that has once swallowed him in order to stay beside the one that had created that hell, but then saved him from it. He knew that no one else could ever save him .... And he really wanted to start to know that hell. That hell named Asami Ryuichi.

****

FeiLong was watching from a distance as Akihito climbed the jet ladder, helped by Asami.

A few minutes earlier, FeiLong had said goodbye to the young photographer. They exchanged no words: they had just watched in each other's eyes. In those hazelnut eyes, so sincere, sounderstanding, and filled with a veil of sadness for their separation, FeiLong, despite the logic, didn't find any comfort ... They gave him a deep, sharp feeling of uneasiness.

The long haired man knew that he cared for the boy. He knew that Akihito was the only one that perhaps he would consider as a "friend". But... but that "strange" feeling was still there, between the two of them.

Someone was closing the jet's door. That someone lingered a little and seemed to look in FeiLong's direction. The tall man's expression remained immutable, but he lowered his eyelids for a moment and parted his lips, as though he had said something, and returned his gaze to the long-haired man. Then he closed the door. "Goodbye to you also, Yoh ..." FeiLong murmured and turned himself toward the car, near which one of his men was waiting. The latter opened the door and the Triad leader entered without turning anymore. The car left without waiting for the jet's takeoff.

_"If you really want to break off relations with the past and to go on with your life..."_

"Yes, but there must be more to life than ... living," the Chinese thought, feeling his eyelids weigh down. The previous night, despite the two days he had not slept, FeiLong had remained awake in the dark room until dawn broke, watching the landscape through the rain. To go on with his life meant, first of all, to understand what bottled up his existence. It meant to dig in his feelings, and that was exactly what he had refused to do during the last seven years. However, once he decided to do this, it was not so hard to understand.

Seven years ago he hadn't been man enough to let Asami hurt his pride, and because of that he built his _need_ for revenge, he put himself into the Limbo where he had lived.

Today he was only left with his own ... jealousy?

Was jealousy really the cause of that uneasiness he felt when facing Akihito?

***

Hikaru wandered for a while through the city, and it was already late afternoon when he decided to come back home. He parked the car far from his house and walked through the rain, hoping to clear his mind. With his clothes and his hair completely soaked, the guy entered his elegant apartment: he quickly took off the shoes and threw them carelessly on the ground. His clothes followed the same fate, forming a trail of clothing, from the entrance to the bedroom. Savouring the slight thrill caused by the contact between his naked body and the cold air in the room, Hikaru lifted his gaze and found himself face to face with the guy reflected by the large mirror against the wall. He stared at his own eyes for few moments.

The pleased Rumi's grinhad confirmed a suspicion that had hovered in his mind for a while. Hikaru had always possessed a nose for danger, and if this danger was real, then he would have done everything to eradicate it. But now, the only thing he wanted to do, or rather, the only thing he needed to do, was to hear Asami. The guy grabbed the cordless phone. He had always avoided, through all those years, calling Asami at his business number, but now he had to do it.

He stared at the handset as if it was a strange object, and then he turned his gaze again to his own eyes reflected in the mirror. Pressing with the receiver's antenna, the boy began to draw strange signs on his right thigh, signs that disappeared after a few seconds.

"Ryuichi-san, please..." he whispered, and then he dialled the number.

***

The jet landed with a lot of delay, because of problems due to adverse weather conditions. Even in Tokyo, as in Hong Kong, it seems that all the floodgates of Heaven were opened that day. Because of rush-hour, it was evening when the car with Akihito and Asami on board was slowly directing toward the photographer's apartment.

Akihito, worn out by the last days' events and by the pain in the shoulder, was sleeping with his face turned towards the window.

Asami, sitting next to him, was already immersed in his work, reading the backlog mail in his laptop. Business, like lovers, can not be neglected for a long time; otherwise it will take revenge on you...

All of a sudden, the Yakuza's cell rang. He fished it quickly from the pocket, checking with the corner of one eye whether Akihito had been disturbed by the ringing. With an irritated, almost threatening tone, Asami replied, "Asami here, and this had better be urgent!"

Suddenly the car came to a grinding halt, and the photographer awakened. He opened his eyes and then closed them again immediately, reassured by hearing Asami's voice, even if the older man tone was not so reassuring. The boy smiled, thinking that someone would have had a good telling-off. With his surprise, however, Asami's voice lowered and his tone relaxed:

"Hikaru… it's not usual for you to call me at this number… Are you ok?"

Akihito felt a disturbing alarm bell echo in his head. The Yakuza's tone was not particularly affectionate or something like that, but there was a reflection of apprehension and familiarity which shone through those few words. That bothered Takaba.

"I 'm very busy tonight …" the Yakuza was saying, while the photographer watched his profile in the reflection of the window. In reply to something that was said at the other end of the line, Asami smiled. Not his usual grin, not the arrogant smile, not his lips curved by lust, not his lips posed in a cruel curve, not a mocking smile… just a simple, real, relaxed smile. Akihito noticed with pain that this was the first time he had found this kind of smile on Asami's face… and it was not for him.

"I have no doubt that it is something very important, Hika-chan. I'll surely come as soon as possible...."

"Asami!" Akihito failed to stop himself to interrupt that conversation which gave as much discomfort as he was willing to admit. Was it jealousy? Of course, it was.

The older man turned his gaze to the boy. "Takaba, you are finally awake," he said in a mocking tone. Then he greeted his interlocutor and took off the phone call.

***

Hikaru remained with the receiver in mid-air. He clearly heard someone calling Asami's name. He was surely a boy, a young man…

A cold, golden shine crossed his eyes…

Who? Who was he .. Who the hell was he?!?!?

The long, tapered fingers held convulsively the handset.

He heard his heartbeat increasing.

All of sudden, the receiver was thrown against the large mirror on the wall, smashing it to pieces. Panting, Hikaru stared at his own image reflection in the hundreds of glass flakes.

He knew very well Asami's free and easy behavior about sex. This was not a problem. His lovers were not a problem. None of them means anything...None had ever meant anything. Never...

But this time, why did he feel that terrible stab in his heart?

Sure, it was jealousy… or was it fear?

Who the hell was that damned brat?

Hikaru's beautiful lips parted and he murmured something. He swallowed and, while a dark shadow erased for a moment the golden flakes in his deep brown eyes, he repeated with a firm, cold voice: "That brat, I'll get rid of him."


	3. Hot shiver

CAN'T TURN BACK THE TIDES by Silke_chan

**Chapter 3 - ..:: Hot shiver ::..**

The sky was dark now, but empty of clouds. The rain washed the dust coating that soiled the town.  
Hikaru, standing near the the balcony's half-open door, looked at his cell, which obviously was not ringing, and then casted a glance at the entry door, which obviously was not opening. He sighs.

_"I'll surely come as soon as possible ..."_

The boy turned around and crossed the gloomy room heading towards the dark outline of the piano which occupied the center of room, and also the center of that house. An house that was too big and too empty.  
He felt a little cold, but had no willing to put some clothes on. After all, who would be interested in the fact that he was naked or not?  
Hikaru sat on the piano's bench and tested with a feather-like caress the smoothness of the keyboard lid, and then he open it gently. The guy could not see them in the dark, but he had 88 keys in front of him, and endless melodies. The pendulum clock in the room began to play 23 tolls .

_"I'll surely come as soon as possible ..."_

Anger, or jealousy, or fear, or whatever it was, began to grow again within him. He narrowed his eyes and raised his hands, bending the fingers, which in the dark seemed almost claws, and he drove them all with evilness on the keys. The wallop produced a deaf sound that was very nearly to a scream.

Both his hands were now acting independently from his brain.  
Hikaru began to play something that looked like a tango, but played at almost doubled speed…

_... Strange, I've seen that face before, seen him hanging 'round my door, _

_  
_Akihito opened his mouth, but no sound left his lips. He batted the eyelids to focus, but what he saw was only a indistinct stain of colors. It could not hear anything, except Asami accelerated breath on his neck.

Hikaru let his hands to roam free, and they flew at speeds on the black and white keys. Despite it was still early spring, despite the door-window was still open, despite the boy was naked, small pearls of sweat ran down from the neck to the bare chest and along his back, as shivers.

_....Like a hawk stealing for the prey, Like the night waiting for the day....... _

Akihito felt his arms surrender as his body arched towards Asami's. His voice cried as if all his wounds was sewing without any anesthetic by the mixing of their bodies.

Hikaru played his anger. His arms were numbed, his fingers beat with fury on the keys, while his head was thrown backwards and his body was arching towards the piano.

_Strange, he shadows me back home, footsteps echo on the stones..._

Akihito felt Asami's strong hand leaned on his chest to support him.  
"Stay here, don't lose yourself now," the oldest man whispered in the boy ear.

But his smell and the sound of his voice,so low and hoarsed by lust, got exactly the opposite effect. "Asami, please" he begged.

"I said no, not yet…"

Hikaru felt a sharp pain raising from the tip of his fingers and opened his eyes. He didn't know how long he was playing, and he didn't even know what he was actually playing . While his hands continued to torment the keyboard, he felt that the keys were wet. The fingers ached to death, but he could not stop to play.

_...Strange he's standing there alone, staring eyes chill me to the bone... (*)_

Akihito could not longer bear it.... this pleasure.

"As..Asami, ple-ase…" he begged again.

The boy felt his back breaking while he held the men inside him, and he thought almost to die. Asami moved his hand. White fleece liquid. Dark....

Hikaru abruptly stopped to play… He realize that he was panting, and shook his head. He rose from the piano bench feeling his legs numb, and returned to his room.

The anger will not helped him. What he needed was to know if this Takaba guy was a danger or not. What he needed was to find him, to "know" him and, if necessary, to erase him.  
At the the abat-jour's light, he watched his fingers. Red sticky liquid. Pain...

_"I'll surely come as soon as possible ..."_

Lapping his tormented fingers, Hikaru laid down on the bed. Waiting for Ryuichi-san.

***

The clock was beating the 23.00 and the aromatic smell of the green tea perfused the room. FeiLong , laid on an armchair, was reading a book, his crossed legs stretched on a stool.  
His head, slightly tilted forwards, allowed a wing of his long dark hairs to cover his face at the others sight. In the dim light of the room, the silky strands still wet after a shower, shone as wet obsidian illuminated by the sun.

FeiLong turned his head to the right, taking away the blanket of raven-black hairs with a gesture of the hand, a gesture full of almost unconscious grace.  
The city lights was glistening in the clean nocturnal air after the storm.

He closed the book and laid it on his lap, taking with the left hand a cup of tea, which was still steaming, from the table. Watching around the dim room with narrowed eyes, the Triad leader sipped the warm liquid.  
Someone was knocking his office door.  
FeiLong sat in a more appropriate way and invited to enter.

A tall and tough man entered. The latter felt a sense of uneasiness in being in a room from the darkness of which he could only see the beautiful face of his boss.

On FeiLong eyes and on his wet hairs, the abat-jour's light trowed warm metallic lightenings.  
"Speak!" FeiLong asked, after several seconds, staring the comer with an angry gaze.  
The man cleaned his throat " I'm sorry, Liu Laoban" he said" Erhm... we had no reassuring news from Japan. It seems that some of our rival groups, nosed out the possibility of an agreement between us and Asami-sama, are trying to enact some maneuvers that still are damaging us. Wang asks us how to move on… and… "  
"I'll bring forward my visit to Tokyo of few days. I'll personally cut away those dead branchs " FeiLong cut the matter short " Alert Wang. You can go now. "he added.  
When the door was closed again behind his subordinate, the long haired man allowed himself a sigh.  
He was not sure yet about what he would reply to Asami offer, but the current situation was obliging him to shorten the terms. He _had to_ erase these problems in Tokyo, as soon as possible.  
**Obviously**, taking into account the new situation, he could ask Asami to deal with that bastards on his place. If they really became _partners_ - bad word, he thought, _associates_, much better – the exchanging of favors would be normal and, also, absolutely vital.  
**Obviously**, he wouldn't ask nothing to Asami, because this would be an implicit statement of intents - and he had not decided yet, and especially because he needed to demonstrate that his power was not under discussion. It was not clear if he needed to prove this to other Triad Group, to Asami, or to himself.  
He opened again the book which laid on his lap, but he didn't bring his gaze back on it. He turned his gaze around the room, until it lingered on the armchair where, the previous night, Asami was seated.

In that precise moment, FeiLong realized that since several days, he was not thinking about Asami with that "usual" waves of resentment that hurt him in the last seven years. And he realized that this "lack" gave him a sense of unease.  
"_Humans endear also to despairation_" he thought.  
When you deeply suffered due to someone, the feeling that the pain is fading scares you, because it means that everything is really ending … Or because it means that you need to start something different.  
Probably this was his fear, he thought: losing his pain and having to start a new "something".  
Or, less philosophically, his fear was to start hoping to have something that, however, he could not ever achieve.  
FeiLong closed the book with a dry snap. "_Kamen no kokuhaku_" (**) by Mishima Yukio. How ironic!

Now he had decided what to do.

The less painful solution for everyone.

***

Akihito was awake up by the cold. Still half asleep, he tried to grap the sheet that surely had to be finished somewhere. On the right there was the void, down there were only his feet, on the left there was nothing…  
Nothing?  
Akihito batted his eyelids and sat on the bed with the mind still numbed by the sleep.

Asami was not there.  
He covered himself with the sheet, which was actually somewhere - at the bed's feet, to be exact - and went around his apartement.  
There was no-one.  
"The usual bastard…" the photographer muttered, but very soon he smiled: it was a relief that he could use again the old "epithets", now that everything was finished and they were back in Tokyo.  
With this bizarre thought in his he head, Akihito crossed the small kitchen to make a cup of tea, but suddenly he remained with his hand in mid.  
_"Hika-chan, I'll surely come as soon as possible ..."  
_Akihito looked at his own hand, and noticed that it was trembling a little.  
"Asami…Where are you now ?" he whispered.

***  
The apartment door was only half-closed, and, of course, the alarm was not turned on.

The clothes were scattered throughout the corridor, while the cold air of early morning penetrated through the balcony's door, that was half opened.

The piano's keyboard lid was still lifted, and the blood on the keys had now became dark strips.  
From the master bedroom filtered the light of an abat-jour, but, entering the room, the first thing that attracted the attention was the great old mirror on the wall. It was shattered, and its pieces reflected the warm light of the lamp like a kaleidoscope.  
The phone receiver was in pieces at the feet of the mirror, covered by flakes of glass.  
"A child... a puckish, whimsical and careless child. This is what you are…" Asami thought, after he reached the door of the bedroom.  
Hikaru was asleep, even if he tried to resist awoken by reading, as the book that was slipped on the floor proved. The Yakuza took it and put it on the bedside table.  
The boy slept with his mouth half-closed, lying on his belly, the cheek laid on the right elbow, while the left arm was folded under his chest.  
Asami took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and then sit on the bed near the younger man. He leaned his hand on the small oh the boy's back. The skin was cold.

Obviously, Hikaru's indolence didn't allowed the boy to put some clothes on.  
"Hika-chan…" Asami whispered approaching his face to the boy's.  
The Yakuza narrowed his eyes. "You really look like _her _... " he thought, and he realized how his impression was true, when the boy opened his eyes. Now that the small light of the lamp was unable to disclose the golden flakes in his eyes, and they were two pool of deep black. Hikaru was so damn similar to _her_.

The boy rose his face .

" Uhm?.. Ryuichi-sa…" but he had not the time to finish the sentence, because his lips were caught by Asami's.

...To be continued...

*Libertango by A. Piazzolla

** Confessions of a mask by Y. Mishima


	4. Changing

**Chapter 4 : ..::Changing::.. **

""Uhm? I understand. Kirishima, send a car here!"

The words were suspended for a moment in the silence and in the feeble light which was discovering that all things, in that hour of the day in which light and night dissolve themselves in each other.

Asami laid the phone on the table and took up the cigarettes. He pulled out one of them by beating the bottom of the packet on the back of his hand, and took it directly with his mouth. It was difficult to say how the cigarette managed to stay there, poised, while the man approached the lighter flame, tinkering with it with his free man inhaled the smoke slowly, then let it slip again from his slightly ruffled lips.

That was the hour of the day which he preferred. He found that it was the one that most resembled him. In fact, if he had the time and the desire to wonder about his life, the twilight was a good comparison. He looked with the corner of his eye inside the house, through the balcony door, and was able to see only the forearm of the boy which hung out of bed. Asami moistened his lips. Hikaru once had compared him to the shoreline. Neither land, nor sea. A grey area.

Hikaru was mistaken. His life was much more linear and less "fictional." He did what he had to do to get what he wanted. And he got it.

While the sun was for three quarters yet swallowed by the sea, the whole line of the horizon burned of a blinding red that quickly cleared in the delicate tones of a feeble lilac, and then become a light blue.

Asami went back into the room, buttoning up his shirt and, after taking the jacket from the chair where he left it the previous evening, turned back to look at Hikaru, who slept.

The Yakuza moved a wisp of the boy's hair which lay on his eyes and put it behind his ear.

He headed toward the exit door. The jacket on his shoulder. The cigarette still between his lips. The free hand in his pocket.

His men had already arrived.

****

Some rhythmic thuds, some concentric sounds were spreading in the boy's mind, which was still asleep.

Those annoying "tonk - tonk - tonk", those lengthened sounds, as he got out from the torpor of the sleep, turned in the equally disturbing and dry "tak - tak - tak" of the clock's hands. With a long and husky moan, clinging with vim to the latest strip of sleep, Hikaru opened his eyes, slowly.

The sunlight blades of the midday sun that seeped through the Venetian blinds hardly managed to squeeze between the thick, dark eyelashes.

The boy closed his eyes again and rose slowly, sitting on the bed. He opened them again, looking around the room. Nothing had changed in that room since the previous night….

Except that the book was on the bedside table rather than on the floor. Except that the bed was in a mess, but the evening before he had not even moved the bedspreads.

But between the previous evening and this morning there had been "something". Also if what happened the previous night was no different from what had happened many other times in those last years, Hikaru felt that something had changed.

Sometimes it happens... sometimes it happens that things crack, suddenly.

This Takaba guy surely _was_ dangerous. Hikaru now knew.

Jumping out of bed, he tried to avoid the mirror's flakes on the floor and headed into the bathroom. The intense light from the opened windows arrested him, as a wave, waking him altogether.

"Damn light!!!" he said between his teeth, and he took a brush from the shelf and threw it on the shutter to push it closed.

He looked at himself in the mirror above the sink. How he hated those damned golden flecks in his eyes.

He had to be nice, he said to himself. If he would be nice and quiet, it would change almost nothing. He had to remain in his beautiful home, to live his beautiful life, surrounded by his beautiful things…and wait for his turn.

He looked in the mirror again.

No...he would not be nice and quiet.

Not this time.

***

The swing swung slowly, while Akihito - astride the board and with his back supported by one of the chains - was immersed in his thoughts and attracted the bothered glares of the children who felt robbed of their game.

The photographer had not been able to sleep the previous night. He repeated to himself that it was because of the pain in the shoulder, or the pain in his _back_, but he was not able to convince himself.

The phone call he had heard in Asami's car had left a sense of unease in his heart. He had called himself "baka" hundred times since he had woken last night and Asami had not been there. Then that damned phone call had come back to his mind and he immediately begun to doubt.

His feelings for Asami, about which he seemed so convinced, had to be very fragile, he rebuked himself! The Yakuza went to Hong Kong still armed for him, gave up the deed, and so an amount of money that he could not even imagine, for him.

He risked his life for him... and hearing Asami saying on the phone "_Hika-chan, I'll surely come as soon as possible ..." __was _enough to become prey of doubts? No, that was wrong....but...

Akihito shook his head....but ...the tone of that phone call… and that smile on Asami's lips that he had never seen before….

_Ah, stop!_

He decided that the best thing to do was to talk with Asami about this. Now.

On the other hand, it was almost 14.00 and Asami also, sooner or later, had to have a break for a lunch! Once he made up his mind, he felt much better and smiled.

The Spring sun, when Akihito rose his head, gave a warm and sweet color to his eyes. Or, perhaps, was his smile…

He headed to Club Sion.

The photographer entered the main door, greeting the guards at the entrance. Fortunately, from now on, he would no more be picked up like an old rag and be thrown into the street every time he tried to enter.

At that time, the Club was semi-deserted, and Akihito was afraid to have made a useless trip to Sion. Approaching the girl at the reception at the office's floor, he was welcomed by a bright smile. The receptionist was a beautiful girl, with a reassuring and not too blatant beauty, as was suitable to her work.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she said, always smiling, so that Akihito asked himself how she could speak and smile at the same time…

"Erhm .. Could I talk with Asami-sama? My name is Takaba Akihito…"

"Asami-sama is not here, I'm very sorry! He is out for a meeting with some customers… but he has left this for you…" she added, giving an envelope to the boy.

He took the message with surprised expression, and read it.

_"Today. 22.00. Your home. A."_

The photographer crushed the paper and then put it in his pocket.

He could bet that Asami would be very amused to discover that he was really came to Sion, as the Yakuza had expected. Bastard!!!! He greeted and thanked the receptionist. Turning to exit, a sensual golden glance of two eyes flashed in Akihito's.

"Asami?" he said, turning to look better. But the Yakuza was not in that room.

There was only the receptionist and another employee, who spoke with an handsome boy that gave his back to Akihito.

***

The night had fallen to cover the sky with its dark tent since a couple of hours.

In his car with blackened windows, Feilong was smoking and waiting for the communication from his posted men that the operation could begin. The ringing of his cell announced that the time had come.

A dark car came emerged from the row of warehouses and parked at the right distance from all the lampposts so that their light would not disturb too much the people inside it. Immediately, the Chinese noticed strange movements in the car.

Feilong turned up his nose at the idea of what was happening in that car, but he needed to wait until things evolved to the point that was more useful to him. At his signal, his men surrounded the car and took out a very bulky man with oily hair, which was holding his trousers, and a not very young woman, almost naked.

"Cheng Wu…" FeiLong said to the man, while one of his men was giving him a pair of leather gloves. "Long time no see..."

"L.. Liu FeiLong," the man looked at him with wide eyes, and wasn't able to stop his jaw from trembling.

"I apologise for the huge number of my men. But being you with a ... Lady ...." the long haired man turned to the woman, who, numbed by the fear, didn't care to be practically naked, "...I thought you had brought some of yours to be helped with her..." he added, putting on the gloves.

The man breathed noisily. The terror could be read in his eyes and, if he had not been supported by two of FeiLong's men, his legs would surely have surrendered.  
"Wu… the pong of your fear tells me that you have done something that could displease me," the triad leader put with grace his long braid behind his back, while Wang gave him a small gun with a mother-of-pearl grip.

"Madam?" FeiLong said, turning to the woman, "Are you left-handed?"

The woman batted her eyelids. She had not grasped the question, or perhaps she was thinking about how much time remained for her to live, and did not answer.

"Speak!" he commanded with a sharp tone and a light in his eyes that did not accept objections.

"Me?.... no... I'm not..." the woman stuttered.

Then, everything happened in a hurry. She almost didn't understand what was happening. FeiLong put the gun in the woman's right hand, putting his hand over hers.

And shot.

Cheng Wu's scream echoed in the prostitute's ears for years.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Madam," FeiLong said with an absolutely calm expression, not impressed at all by the poor Wu's death rattles.

"Cheng Wu, remember this: For now, you lost only a knee, and you will limp for the rest of your life. Next time you will be much less lucky. Tell this also to your friends."

FeiLong returned the gun to Wang, who carefully preserved it in a transparent plastic bag.

"And you, _Madam_, remember that we have the evidence that _you _shot this man... and be sure he'll never charge us about this...so:  
1. Don't dare to say one word about this to anybody, otherwise the police will find this gun, with your fingerprints, _by accident_;  
2. Call with your cell the emergency number so they can take care of this scum, before he dies by blood loss.  
3. Expect that my men occasionally come to ask your cooperation, or some information about the wonderful world that you attend. Was I clear enough?"

The woman promptly nodded and, grasping her cell, she dialled the emergency number.

The triad leader left his men to deal with the last details, and headed towards his car.

The cleaning operation in Tokyo was well underway.

When he would meet with Asami in a couple of days, the Chinese groups who worked in Japan would have been very clear as to how they should behave regarding The Baishe.

"Liu -Laoban…" Wang timidly asked while he opened the car's door to Feilong, "Why haven't we limited ourselves to kill them?"

"Wang .. We are not in our territory, so we can not use extreme measures without the consent of who rules the local underworld…" he replied, entering the car. Wang closed the door, nodding.

FeiLong took off the gloves and dumped them on the car seat.

The problems they had in Tokyo would be resolved sooner than he expected. But his job for tonight was not finished yet.

"Wang. To Madame Ling," he ordered.

***  
Akihito was sitting on the bed reading a manga, while he drank a tasty hot chocolate. It was already 21.30 and, presumably, it would have been appropriate to take a shower…

After reading Asami's message, he had felt more comforted, and had had no thought about his doubts throughout the day.

He heard knocking at the door.

"Damn, Asami is already here !!!!" he said, trying to hide the cup of chocolate and the mangas, to avoid Asami's sarcastic comments, and cleaning the chocolate's "moustache" with his sleeve. He ran to the door and, after trying to set the tone, opened it.

He had not even the time to half-open the door when a sharp, strong blow hit him in the chest. It made Akihito lose the grip on the floor and threw him back. Akihito found himself a few meters from the door.

The shoulder that had wrought on the wooden frame of the bed was aching, but at least, the mattress had avoided that he slammed his head.

"What on earth!" he screamed, lifting his eyes to his aggressor.

In front of him, standing, there was a boy, apparently of his same age. A very beautiful boy: black long hair, full lips posed in a childlike grouch.

"You. have. to. disappear…." the unknown boy said, between his teeth. Golden metallic flecks shone in his eyes, full of anger.


	5. While everything flown

Sorry, self beta m(_ _)m

_**Chapter 5 ..:: W**_**hile everything flown ::..**

_"You have to disappear!!!"_

These words vibrated in Akihito minds like an echo.

Before that he himself would become truly aware of what he was doing, the photographer suddenly stood up from the floor and attacked the unknown boy, pushing him with both hands and making him hit with his back against the edge of the entrance door.  
"Get out of my house!" Akihito said, without shouting, wondering at the calm and the resoluteness which transpired from his own voice.

He was tired; he was really tired that anyone felt entitled to harm him, including this brat.  
"And you get out of my life!!" he heard the boy to reply, while he pointed in his the face two burning eyes of a strange colour, but disquietingly familiar.  
The two boys were standing a line of sight. They now were facing only with their eyes, but the tension of their muscles was to testify that neither of the two wanted to be taken by surprise again.  
"I don't know who you are..." Akihito said simply, convinced that this reply was more than enough for the absurd words that the other had said so far.  
"And I couldn't care less about knowing you. But you're a trouble . Let me say it to you clearly: _'We don't need you! Get lost_!!!"  
Last words were shot with a peremptory tone that fazed Akihito.  
_We? Who the heck could be that "we"?__  
_"Too bad that I don't have a clue who this "we" are…" he said, rubbing his aching shoulder with an increasingly interrogative look in his eyes.  
Hikaru tightened his jaw and moved his body slightly forward.  
The photographer guessed the clear intention of the unknown boy to attack again, but he would not allow him to do that.

Akihito had always hated violence, he had experienced too much of that in the latest time and he couldn't handle it again. He didn't want to hear anything from him, he didn't want know anything, not even the possible reasons for this "ambush".

He "intercepted" Hikaru hand which tried to take him by the scruff of the neck and held both the other boy's wrists.

The only thing Akihito wanted to do was to chase him away, out of his house, to close the door and then, if he didn't leave, maybe to call the police. Everything provided that he could not see more violence.  
The photographer pushed the boy with all the strength that he had, but Hikaru opposition make him not be pushed towards the door but against the glass showcase where Takaba kept his cameras.  
Akihito saw clearly the other boy head at full speed toward the windows and instinctively closed his eyes.  
He heard the showcase fall to pieces and a whimper of bited-back pain.  
He opened his eyes turning them towards the glass pieces on the floor, and saw, above them, a drop of blood, then another, then more.  
He raised his eyes to the unknown boy, worried.

But…  
"A… Asami?" he whispered.

Hikaru's right hand was gripped into Asami's. His hand had sheltered the boy's one from the wallop. Had it not been for him, the blood on the floor would be Hikaru's.  
"Ryuichi-san…" Hikaru made a step backwards, while Akihito's gaze passed from one to another. An acute pain made his way in the photographer chest, as if his heart had understood earlier then his mind that he was about to discover something that he did not want to know.  
"Hikaru, go to the car and tell a Kirishima and Suoh that I'm coming. " Asami said, taking off the glass' slivers from his hand, with a tone of voice so quiet and offish that, paradoxically, was more terrifying than any other.  
Hikaru didn't say a word and came out, but, instead to going straight to the car, he stopped a few steps from the door of Akihito's apartment. He leaned his back on the wall of the outside corridor and standing there, with his head bowed.  
_Hikaru? Hika-chan… He is Hika-chan…?_  
"Akihito ..."  
_He is Hika-chan… he is the one with whom Asami spokes on the phone… and Asami has just protected him_… _and he is wounded because of him..._

"Akihito? Have you something for this?" Asami continued, showing him his hand.

The boy nodded, without looking in his eyes.  
While Akihito took care the best way possible of Asami's hand, the two of them never said a single word. The boy felt the penetrating gaze of the older man on him, but he avoided to rise his head till the operation was completed.

"I think your hand cries for some stiches…" The younger man said, while he put away the first aid's box.  
"Akihito ....?"  
"Don't you have to go? You told him that you'll reach him in the car, don't you? Are you not late?" The photographer had gathered to all his strengths so that his voice was not craked by the tears that he felt rising in his throat. But this pantomime would not be very credible if he could not be able to look in the yakuza's eyes, so he raised his face toward him.  
Asami totally relaxed expression pissed of Akihito very much.  
"You are a damn bastard! How dare you to show such an innocent face like that? Where did you go to last night, eh? Did you go to him? And since when this…. "  
Akihito found himself in Asami arms out of the blue. At first he tried to wiggle out of the older man arms, but when their lips joined, and the embrace became more and more strong, he couldn't help but to give in to that sweet violence.  
Hikaru steps echoed feebly as he run away.

***

The car with Hikaru and Asami on board ran towards the the boy's apartament.

The panel that separated the front seats from the rear was lifted, but there was no private conversation to be protected.  
Hikaru kept looking straight ahead, as if the dark glass surface of the panel was the most interesting sight in the world.  
"Hikaru, how dared you to horn in on what was not of your business ?"  
Asami closed for a moment his eyes, trying to calm himself down.  
"In addition, you could seriously harm your hand ... You are a pianist, have you thought about that?" he continued, with a more accommodating tone of voice.  
"You have to choose" the boy said, always looking ahead.  
"Hikaru, although there is no reason in the world for me to give you an explanation about that, I make you note that a choice is necessary when you have two alternatives that contradict each other. I don't have any need to choose." the man replied, supporting his chin on the back of the hand, and turning his face towards Hikaru.  
"He will not agree…" Hikaru replied, turning toward the older man.  
"This is not your problem, Hikaru. Akihito is mine, now and he will be in the future. Period. He will agree or not, is the same. "  
"Obviously... And I suppose this statement is valid also for me," the younger man replied, pointing his eyes at Asami's.  
No answer.

Asami believed that the answear was so obvious that he didn't consider necessary to reply.  
"I could decide to move out…." Hikaru said, turning his gaze to the windows "maybe, if your interest in me is waning, someone else could like me… I suppose there's people willing to pay for what now is obviously not enough for you…"  
"Are you willing to undertake the career of a whore? If you have found your vocation, I could write a good letter of references…" Asami said, in mocking way.  
" A whore.. yes! You coul say that I'm a real chip off the old block, aren't I? "  
Hikaru understood too late to have passed the sign. He first tasted the flavour of blood on his lips, then the pain and only in the end he undestood what had just happened.  
A slap.  
"How dare you to speak about _her_ in this way?" Asami eyes lighted with anger.  
The boy looked at the older man, but it was as if he coundn't see him. A small stream of blood began to come down from his wounded lip... and then... with no sigle movement of his face, in silence, he began to cry. They were only his eyes that were crying.  
Like if someone would full a glass until his edge, with pain. At a certain point, a first drop begins to slide down along the edges, sliding along the side.  
Then two.

And then three.

And then many other drops…  
In the same way, Hikaru remained motionless in front of the sight of its defeat.  
The car stopped. There was a huge crowd dressed in traditional clothes, maybe a festival, and the traffic was now very slow.  
All of sudden, Hikaru opened the door and got off the car.  
Asami didn't stop him. He was still looking at his own hand, at the little stream of blood and saliva on his finger that was now melting into his own blood oozing out form his re-opened wound .

***

Akihito laid on his bed, his eyes turned to the ceiling.  
It is probably true what they say, that you cannot die because of love… but because of love you may suffer to death.  
He discovered, by chance, that there was someone else in Asami's life. Someone about whom the Yakuza seemed to care very much.

The photographer felt the deep bond between them thanks to the way they watched each-other in those few moments.  
The photographer swallowed: Asami was like a hurricane: storm and urge. And he was caught there, in the middle of the tornado, and carried by the swirl of the events, between ecstasy and nightmare. And now he reached this point.  
He was sure of his feelings, and, only the gods know why, he was even sure of Asami's feelings for him. Asami was what he desired.  
But there is a difference between happiness and desire. Because sometimes what we want, may give us only sorrow. He was not afraid to choose to suffer. But it had to be an informed choice. And so he had to know who Asami really was.  
He turned on his side and sighed.  
Then his attention was caught by a small piece of transparent plastic that emerged from under the carpet beside the front door.

***

"Damn!" FeiLong cussed, clenching his teeth.  
He was standing in a dirty alley, his back laid against the wall.

The Chinese man was holding his gun with both hands, pointing upward. The main road teemed with people.  
The transaction at Madame Ling's night-club, or rather at Mae Ling's brothel, had not gone exactly as planned. To say the truth, it was a trap.  
It seems that this hypothetical business association between him and Asami worried several other Triad groups. With full knowledge of the facts, he must admit.  
Due to the mess at Madame Ling's Night-club, he now found himself almost in the middle of a street full of people, isolated from his men and hunted by Wei Hung.  
He tried to look at the positive side of the situation. If he was able toget rif of Hung one and for all, he would solve all his problems here in Tokyo.  
It was a pity that a gunfight in the middle of the crowd was not exactly the most desirable way to resolve this problem.  
FeiLong heard a swish at his left and turned, aiming the weapon... and he found himself with his gun pointed at the forehead of an unwitting passer.

"_This is only a boy _" Fei thought.

He saw the look of the boy staring at his eyes, and then flashing beyond his head for a second, and back to his eyes again.  
He turned backward and shot without looking. One hit. But he clearly heard two shots. Both cushioned by the silencers. A bullet almost brushed his left arm.  
The impact of FeiLong's bullet lifted Wei Hung body and hurled it against the wall. "_Like a bird hit in flight"_ the Triad Leader thought.

It was only thanks to the boy gaze that he could understood that Hung was behind him…  
_"Wait a moment...The boy !_ ? !"  
FeiLong turned back toward the entrance of the alley.  
The boy was still there, and he was watching him, with his beautiful eyes in which shone warm, metallic golden flakes.

It seemed to FeiLong that the younger man gaze would become out-of-focus. The Chinese had just the time to support him in his arms, and Hikaru passed out.

Fei long find the boy clothes soaked by too much blood.


	6. Searching for you

_**CHAPTER 6 ..:: Looking for you ::..**_

Akihito remained a few seconds to stare at that small piece of transparent plastic that emerged from under the carpet. He would have been able to get up and go and see what it was, but all he wanted to do now was stay there, on the bed, with his knees pulled up and his arms crossed on the chest, thinking…

Thinking about Asami, and about how much he loved the Yakuza (exactly, he loved him, he had finally admitted that, ok?), about how little he knew about him and how he wanted to know everything, about how much fear he had of discovering things that he later would regret having wanted to know.

"Phew!!" the photographer exclaimed, winnowing his hair and rising to sit on the bed. No, no... He didn't want to wallow in his troubles all night long… He got up from bed and walked to the exit door, avoiding looking at the wastebasket where you could see the glass flakes that he had picked up from the floor, dirtiedby Asami's blood.

This weariness, however, did not prevent him from remembering the scene to which he assisted shortly before: Hikaru leaned with his back into Asami's body, which was holding the boy's hand in order to protect it, while the Yakuza's other arm surrounded Hikaru's waist.

What bothered Akihito wasn't the situation itself; it was the absolute naturalness that transpired from the scene.

The photographer felt as if that hug was something bitterly normal, obvious and fair.

Hikaru was in Asami's arms, and Akihito, for a second, thought he belonged there.

And now they were together…

Together… the idea of those two together, was like a stab right through Akihito's heart.

The photographer shook his head to chase away those painful thoughts, and bent over to collect the little piece of plastic. The object proved to be a sort of business card case.

Akihito opened it and pulled out its contents. It was Hikaru's library card, presumably lost during their scuffle.

He read:

**_Miwa Hikaru_**_**  
**_**_Born: 06.12.1986_**_**  
**_**_Address: xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_**

"So Hikaru is a year younger than me…" Akihito thought, and this thing upset him more.

The good thing was that the photographer knew where the boy lived… perhaps he could try to investigate a little about him, or return his kind visit.

He would have tried again to get explanations from Asami, but if the Yakuza did not intend to explain his relationship with Miwa-kun, Akihito would find out alone what the truth was.

After all, he was a reporter, was he not?

Asami was mistaken if he thought he could continue to rule him!

***

In the office, the only light turned on was pointed at Asami's the right hand, while Kirishima provided a more accurate medication to it.

Apparently unconcerned about the pain that Kirishima's operations were causing him, Asami was sitting in his chair. His long legs overlapped, the elbow of his free arm supported by the armrest of the chair. His look was roaming beyond the windowpane, while the forefinger of his free hand brushed inattentively and sensually over his lower lip.

"Asami-sama, I've finished," Kirishima said respectfully, rising up and putting aside the medication and the dirty lint.

"Asami-sama, do you want me to organize a search for Miwa-san?" he asked then, looking at his boss, who had his face still turned towards the window.

"No," he said, with a dull voice, turning his face towards the interlocutor, then immediately bringing his gaze to the bandaged hand, opening and closing his fingers to check their mobility.

It was not very good.

Kirishima frowned his eyebrows. Obviously he had not been expecting this answer, but needed only few moments to understand what was crossing his boss's mind.

Kirishima allowed himself, in his mind, to not agree with him. He had worked for Asami for a long time, and he could safely say that he was his right-hand man.

Kirishima had also known Hikaru for almost five years, and, unlike Matsunaga-san, he liked the boy a lot.

Kirishima left Asami alone.

The Yakuza took, with his left hand, a cigarette from the mahogany box on his desk, as in a ritual. He felt the contact of his fingers on the paper, and beat the filter on the desktop. He took the cigarette to his mouth and there it remained, hung in the balance between his lips and the void.

With the same hand, he took the lighter, and after the "click" of the flint, a small yellow flame removed a little piece of dark from the night.

He inhaled a puff and seemed almost to feel the blow of the smoke in his lungs.

Asami kept in the smoke for a while and then let it slowly slip from his lips.

He turned again then, his gaze on the bandaged hand, and, watching his fingers, he narrowed his eyes. He almost seemed to recall the impact of those strong fingers on Hikaru's soft lips.

It was the first time he had touched his lips in that way. It was the first time hehad used violence against him.

And it was the first time in five years that he did not know where the boy was.

He rose from the chair and, in that moment, he realized that it was in this office that he had met Hikaru for the first time.

Hikaru with his high school uniform. With his disturbingly beautiful eyes. With his whimsical, childish pout.

It was her who took him there. Himeko…it was her.

He held the bandaged hand strongly, and felt an acute pain.

He thought it was right to feel it. He had lost Himeko...he would never lose Hikaru.

***

The water that slipped in the base of the shower was a pinkish color, but gradually it became transparent again.

FeiLong was finally able to wash off from his body the blood of the boy who, not long before, had saved his life.

And was repaid for this act by taking a bullet which was addressed to him. He raised his face toward the jet of hot water. With both hands, he put his hair back, and closed his eyes.

He remained like that for a while, enjoying avidly the pleasant sensation of the drops of water that slipped along his body. FeiLong wondered why that boy had decided to warn him about the danger.

After all, he was pointing a gun at his forehead… And it was not the best reason in order to get him to help…

FeiLong stretched slightly his arms and arched his back towards the water's jet welcome it better.

Then turned his back to enjoy the massage of the jetting water on his shoulders, while his long hair, like sinuous seaweed, clung on his body. The Chinese closed the hot water, and, with a small sigh, he suddenly opened the cold water, which struck him like a whip.

_Pain is so close to pleasure._

Feilong closed the water and directed, dripping, to the bathroom's mirror. He stared first into his own eyes, and then he slipped his gaze downward.

He caressed with the forefinger of his left hand the scar of the bullet just above his heart. That scar, which was for years the mark of his hatred, now did not mean anything.

_"Sometimes in life it happens something that leave you full of questions"_, he thought, "_and you go ahead every day to search for the answers._

_Then one day, something happens and it is life itself that shows you the replies... or, maybe, you could decide that_ it is better _not to search for an answer at all..."_

It was better for everyone…

He was distracted from his thoughts by a slight knock at the door. One of his men came to inform him that the doctor who was taking care of boy had asked to talk with him.

***

_This doesn't hurt… or at least, it doesn't hurt as much as you think it must hurt._

_I think I'm losing too much blood… I saw the bullet to brush against my arm, but I do not know why, I was hit… and there is too much blood on my clothes._

_Ryuichi, bastard, this is your fault._

_If I die now, it is your fault and so you will suffer……_ _Good! I am glad!_

_Although you'll go on and on by pretending that nothing is happened, you will suffer…_

_I know it, and you know it too… that you'll miss me and you'll feel guilty about me….. Good!_

_..._

_He is looking at me… I think it's the angel of death... I have no doubt that he is an angel, he is too beautiful to be human, he has long hair and a delicious smell… my doubt whether or not he is the angel of death… But he has a gun... so I thin-k..._

_..._

_  
__I don't feel the ground under my feet, and I feel my arms swinging in the air._

_But I smell a perfume, spicy, sweet and at the same light and cold. This is the scent of the angel, his hair's scent._

_He must be a very gentle angel to bring me in his arms, because I don't think I could be able to go there... well, wherever he is bringing me, by myself..._

_Dying is not so terribl, after all…… even if this means that I cannot see Ryuichi-san again… Can't be with him again, and I will miss him for ever... _

_fo ev..._

_***_

"How is he?" the Triad leader asked the doctor, who respectfully bowed at his arrival.

"He lost a lot of blood. The wound was not deep, but has graved a quite important vein. I have done everything I can, LaoBan"

The long haired man placed his hand on the wounded arm of the boy, looking at his pale face, where it could be noted the bluish stain of a bruising on the left cheek, near to his wounded lips.

"Ehy, kid," FeiLong said, moving a wisp of the boy's hair.

The triad leader noticed that the diaphanous eyelids of the boy palpitated slightly for a moment, and then they opened slowly, while a small teardrop fled away from the net of long lashes.

"How do you feel?"FeiLong asked.

Hikaru's pupils turned toward him and he curved his lips into a slight smile.

"Hello angel..." came the reply.


	7. Moonlight sonata

**Chapter 7 ..:: Moonlight sonata ::..**

4:12 a.m.

Akihito was sitting on the bed, pecking at some crackers, with the only company of the waxing moon, which was peeping out from behind the windowpane.

That night, sleep would not come to give a little truce, even for a while, to his bad thoughts. After tossing and turning in his bed for an hour, the photographer had decided that it was better to give up and try to distract himself with other things.

"_And__ so here I am, at 4.00 in the morning, trying to resolve this sudoku… and it's all your fault, Asami!"_ Akihito sighed, throwing the newspaper and the pen onto the floor.

It was useless to deceive himself; the only thing he wanted to do was to know was what Asami was doing, whereas with whom he was, he already knew very well.

He took the cell from the bedside table, swallowed his pride, and dialled Asami's number.

One ring… and then he suddenly cut off the line.

"_No, I just cannot give in to him." _The idea of his usual smirk and the jeering tone with which he surely would have responded dissuaded the photographer.

He had just laid the phone on the bedside table, when it rang.

"Akihito? Is everything ok?"

"Asami, you?!" the photographer replied, embarrassed, but also slightly surprised. Judging by his voice, Asami seemed tired, or perhaps worried.

"You were looking for me. Did something happen?"

"Huh? Ehm .. no .. I .. well," Akihito said, stuttering.

"You will explain to me in a few minutes. I'm coming there."

Click.

Akihito put the cell aside. And he blushed, understanding how happy he felt now.

Asami was coming to him, and he was happy.

***

Hikaru was sitting on the bed, his knees bent to support his head, his arms carelessly laid on the mattress.

The stitches on his left forearm slightly bothered him, and now that the effect of the painkillers was passing, in addition to the pain in his arm, even the pain in the face began to awaken .

He laid his right hand on the bruising, and then he slipped a finger on the wounded lip.

"_This__ shouldn't be a beautiful sight,"_ he thought."...._S__ometimes, events precipitate,_" he thought, feeling the tears sting his eyes like pins.

They precipitate.

"_I__t would be nice to have time to become accustomed to this. But sometimes, it is not granted...."_

He turned his gaze at the sky through the windows. The moon was a white nail in the dark of the night. That strange night without stars.

"_It happens suddenly_ - he thought - _we create our stories, so intimate, so deep, so real. And we live them for years, persuaded that this is the reality, happy in our own illusions_… _and then life decides that it has no desire to play with our _foolish self-deceptions_."_

Life decides that it wants you to play another game: a single moment, a single gesture, and in an instant, whole years become just dry sand that slips between your fingers.

It all happens suddenly. And you have to start all over again

"Five years.... and _I'll have to start all over again…"_

The boy shivered.

"_If I do not come back, he will find me, and will bring me back... and when he'll bring me back, he will not give me what I want, but still force me to give him what he wants."_

***

Akihito wanted to ask to Asami who Hikaru was. He wanted to ask him what kind of relationship they shared…

But he could not think coherently now that Asami was with him.

"I have had enough of these questions, Akihito!" the older man said, before taking possession, again, of the photographer's lips with violence. Then slowly the kiss became more and more sweet.

Asami eyes burned with lust and Akihito, as always at the sight of those eyes, was simultaneously warmed and terrified.

The older man left the boy's lips and began to kiss his neck, hundreds of small kisses that were not fulfilling but had the only aim to raise his desire. A torture, as usual.

As soon as Asami moved away his lips from Akihito and stared at him with his amused smirk, the boy, with shortness of breath, tried to give a convincing tone to his voice.

"What makes you think that I will allow you to do this? You first have to give me the answers to my questions!"

"My kawaii Akihito… I know that you allow me to do what I'm doing because I know what you want more than you dare confess to yourself," Asami said with a serious tone and the usual trademark smirk on his lips.

Akihito did not reply. He knew that he was right. At this very moment, he almost could not recall even the existence of Hikaru.

Asami raised slowly the photographer's shirt, discovering the warm skin of the boy's chest, following upwards, with the tip of his tongue, the path of his muscles until he reached his pink nipple.

The touch of feverish lips, the boy arched his body toward him, threw his head backward and made their bodies melt together. The shirt tied his arms above his head.

Akihito was imprisoned on the bed, under the weight of Asami's body, which slowly continued to undress him.

The photographer tried in vain not to cooperate, to demonstrate that he was angry with the older man, but his body was betraying him. He felt Asami's hand to caress his calf, then went up slowly, rubbing inside his thigh and then down again, towards the knee, forcing him to open his legs. Then Asami was separating himself from Akihito, to set himself free from his clothes.

Akihito, who until that moment had tried in vain to resist, now could not wait anymore.

The least separation of their bodies was for him like lack of air. He felt the fire under his navel to branch off and single cell. He could hear the reverberation of his desires spreading as waves throughout his body, starting from the lips of Asami on his cock, from Asami's fingers that skilfully caressed his entrance.

"As...ami, pl..please. Fuck me!"

"Oh, no, my Akihito..." the Yakuza's low and husky voice echoed in the boy head. "I'm not going to fuck you; I'm going to make love to you."

***

Feilong walked with elegant movement through the delightful little Japanese garden in front of the Western-style villa that was his new headquarters in Tokyo.

In fact, the city was at about an hour away, but the Chinese preferred to find an accommodation that was close to the sea, in a not so crowded place. Thus, he came to the back side of the villa and entered the winter garden, this time in real Western style.

He sat on a bench under a gazebo covered by purple-blue passionflower.

Tomorrow he would meet Asami, and he would have to give his answer on the Yakuza's offer to become "business" associates. The decision had taken since long time. He would have consented, and not because he had forgotten the past or because, analyzing it, he had found the answers to all his questions.

It was only because it was important for the Baishe.

And the Baishe now was everything he had.  
This was only business.

He had no intention to become Asami's _friend_. He also did not want to have anything to do with any aspect of Asami's private life, and wanted to meet him the bare minimum. He would introduce to the older man Wang, as his Japanese referent. Once Feilong had personally defined the details with the Yakuza, Wang would arrange all the deals with Asami in the future.

To keep out of Asami's private life also meant, unfortunately, to renounce Akihito's friendship, but there was no need to tell the truth to the photographer.

FeiLong didn't want to see again the sadness his bright eyes. He would meet Akihito during these days in Tokyo, and then would be back in Hong Kong.

The flow of time would do the rest.

He was absorbed in his thoughts and then, all of a sudden, the sound of steps on the cobblestone made him to come back to the reality.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you..."

Hikaru was standing a few meters from FeiLong. The clothes that his men had procured for him were obviously too large. FeiLong smiled, he was really funny in that outfit.

"I was looking for you, Liu-sama," Hikaru said, approaching the older man.

The boy had the shirt's collar lifted, and with the right hand he was rubbing his injured forearm down.

"_T__his boy seems so delicate, but has a strong temperament _– the Chinese thought – _heis already on his feet, after losing all that blood_!"

Hikaru approached - to be true, with precarious steps, but given his conditions, it was already surprising that he could walk - and sat at FeiLong's left side.

The Triad leader frowned at him: he was not accustomed to the fact that people around him could take the liberty to act without his order.

Only Akihito had always behaved this way… and Asami, of course.

The boy turned to stare at the older man, and in that moment FeiLong understood why Hikaru had chosen to sit on his left and why he had the shirt collar lifted. The bruising on his left cheek was now more evident…a mixture of purple and yellow. It was not a nice sight, but it was a sign that it would be healed soon. Evidently the doctor had used some Chinese traditional medicine in order to speed the healing.

The boy noticed what the Chinese was watching and blushed. He lowered his gaze, bringing the hand to his face.

_He is beautiful_ – FeiLong thought, narrowing his eyes.

A lunar, cold beauty, fragile and untruthful, which shone through the golden, yet metallic, glint of his eyes in which the long dark eyelashes were designing a singular blue shadow. It shone through the cold tones of his beautiful skin and through his raven-black hair.

FeiLong made a spontaneous comparison with Akihito, who, instead, owned a solar beauty, tenacious and sincere, which transpired from his hazelnut eyes, his radiant smile, from his soft, peach-coloured skin and even from the warmth of his tears.

"Why am I alive?" the boy asked.

"What?" The question took FeiLong by surprise.

"Why did you let me live? Why did you take care of my wound? I am what you candidly call an eyewitness; I think my death was more useful for you …" Hikaru explained.

FeiLong smiled, amused. "_An impertinent kid, eh?_"

"But I still can kill you..." he replied with a smirk.

Hikaru shook his head: "No, I am sure you will not do that! If that were your intention, you'd have left me there… You'd have put in my hand the gun and would have let the authorities to puzzle over the way to find out why a Japanese boy and a Chinese man, presumably an underworld's man, had a duel in a deserted alley, killing each other..."

FeiLong burst into laughter. "You're right, I decided not to kill you, but if I had understood that you were a boy so full of haughtiness, I would have taken a different decision…" he smiled.

Hikaru thought that this was the most beautiful man he had ever seen, but when he smiled, he was really luring.

"Why am I still alive?" he asked again.

"Because you saved my life by warning me about the armed man behind me. And also because the death of that man has solved very problematic situations that bothered me. I owe you. You may ask me whatever you want," FeiLong replied, without bothering to make references to the murder.

This boy was not like Akihito, certain things seemed not to upset him at all.

"Then you owe me… and I can ask you whatever I prefer…" the boy said this sentence looking ahead, with a thoughtful expression, and he seemed to talk to himself.

"Sure, Hikaru-kun."  
"Do you know my name? Well, certainly you have taken some information about me…" he said, nodding.

"Obviously. Well, you've decided what you want from me?" Feilong asked.

He was curious about what kind of things a boy like this could ask for.

"Really? I can ask everything I want?" Hikaru bit slightly his lower lip.

"It's what I said," FeiLong replied, narrowing his eyes.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Hikaru put aside his hair in order to look straight in FeiLong's eyes. Then he approached the Chinese man to whisper in his ear. "What if I asked you to kill someone for me?"

7


	8. Diamonds

****sorry, self-beta*****

**Chapter 08 : ..:: Diamonds ::..**

"And what if I ask you to kill someone for me?" Hikaru whispered this phrase with no trembling in his voice.

FeiLong turned towards the boy, their faces now very close. He could see clearly in the younger man's eyes a calmness that upset him.

"Are you maybe trying to challenge me?" the Chinese replied with a sharp look.

Hikaru slightly drifted away from FeiLong and turned his gaze ahead.

The railing of the small gazebo was covered with jasmine flowers, still in bud. The scent was not yet intense, but created a delicate aura in the air.

The boy turned again his gaze on FeiLong, curving his lips into a smile.

"No, Liu-sama. I dared to ask you this because I know that you could do it… I apologise if I appeared to say a joke…" he said, and he was sincere. FeiLong understood that by the boy's steady gaze.

His attention was once again attracted by the bruising on the younger man's face.

The Chinese lengthened his right hand towards the boy's face. Hikaru tried to move his head slightly back, but FeiLong's fingers reached him, to gently caress the wounded lip, before he could escape. A light caress with the back of his fingers.

Hikaru closed his eyes.

"Do you want me to kill the man that did this to you?" he asked, putting away his hand from Hikaru's mouth. Now he understood that the boy was not joking at all.

"This - Hikaru said, bringing his hand to his face - is my fault..."

FeiLong raised an eyebrow. "You mean that you voluntarily slammed at full speed your face against his hand, I suppose…" FeiLong exclaimed sarcastically.

"I didn't stay in my place…"

FeiLong turned his gaze ahead. That reply annoyed him, and he couldn't explain why…

"And more - the boy continued -… I love him"

_I love him_

FeiLong stared at the young man.

"How could someone confess this kind of thing so easily? How could someone candidly say to a stranger this kind of thing about a man that clearly stomped on that sentiment…"

FeiLong asked himself if he had ever been able to admit something like that… And he was surprised to think that Hikaru, with this admission, showed not his weakness, but his strength.

The triad leader wanted to say something about this topic, instead he said: "But he has found a new _toy,_ right?" Regretting immediately to have used that word, which was offensive for Hikaru, too.

"No, _**he**_ is not a toy. .. but it is precisely for this reason that I'm not going to ask you to kill him. I am not so lenient."

"To kill him means to be lenient?" FeiLong asked. He began to appreciate very much talking with the boy, who was often able to surprise him with his unusual logic.

"He has voluntarily earned his personal hell on earth. I hope the he would savour it until its last drop… exactly as I'll have to do until I die."

_"Everyone has his own personal hell_ - FeiLong thought _- it is true… but Hikaru was right in saying that only few people choose it voluntarily."_

FeiLong also chose his hell, 7 years before. He did not know when the young man sitting next to him had made that choice… but for that unknown boy who had now taken Hikaru's place, the Chinese felt a sympathy that surprised him.

"The nice thing is that, despite the fact that he took my place, he never gave me my freedom... isn't that ironic?……" Hikaru added with a bitter smile.

"At this point, I wonder, who is the person that I have to kill for you?"

Hikaru looked at him, looked at that beautiful angel of death, and replied with a serene smile: "It's me."

***

_"Akihito, I have already said that Hikaru is not your problem. He will not give you annoyance again."_

_That was the only reply that the photographer had from Asami that morning, before he went to his office._

_Asami did not understand, or pretend to not understand, that this was not the point. Akihito was almost sure about what the older man was feeling for him. But even their mutual feelings were not the point. The point was that Akihito didn't know Asami as much as he wanted._

_The point was that, as far as the photographer knew, the Yakuza could be a man who considered it normal to love him and to have sex also with Hikaru, or even to love both of them._

_Things that to him, however, didn't seem quite normal!_

_"Now Hikaru is… in your house?" Akihito asked Asami, who was now clothed and was smoking beside the window, ready to leave._

_"Hikaru moved out… I don't know where he is now," the Yakuza replied._

Akihito sipped the hot chocolate in the usual small cafeteria in front of his apartment.

A few hours ago, Asami had said that Hikaru had moved out. Akihito was sure that it was the truth.

This should have consoled him. But the dark shadow that he had noticed within the apparently indifferent look in Asami's eyes when he had informed him, had obtained, instead, the opposite effect. Miwa-kun was not only the bitch in turn… Akihito was sure about that... and this awareness hurt him very much.

The photographer took Hikaru's library card from his pocket.

He had given Asami the opportunity to explain him how things really were, and he had not explained. Akihito felt entitled to look for the truth by himself.

And now that he knew that Miwa-kun's house was empty…

***

FeiLong was in the room which he had set to become his office.

A wide veranda occupied an entire wall of the room and it had a wonderful view of the private beach. The sky was smooth and the reflection of the spring sun on the water seemed to have turned the sea in a huge expanse of metal flakes.

The long haired man was sitting on the armchair of his desk and seemed absorbed in gloomy thoughts. Warm reflexes shone trough between the long lashes of his half-closed eyes.

The intercom sounded. With a bothered air, the Chinese man lifted up the phone.

"Yes?" he said sharply.

"Liu-LaoBan, Asami-sama on the phone."

Put him through --- Asami…?"

" Good morning Fei, welcome back to Japan... although I heard that you were here for a few days already..."  
"Yes, you know... the usual boring details to organize. Is there some news? If I remember well, the meeting was set for tomorrow afternoon, 18.00 o'clock."

"Yes, indeed. But tomorrow morning there will be also a brunch, with some finance's relevant personality with whom I have had business relationships for a long time… I think it would be interesting for your scopes to know them in person..."

"Asami, I would like to remind you that I still never said that I intend to accept your proposal…"

"I know, Fei, I know. You can call this a bonus, or... a gift. The brunch is at 12.00 at Sion…"

"I can't refuse a _gift_, can I? It would be so rude.... but, Asami, my name is FeiLong…"

"As you wish, _Liu-sama. _See you tomorrow…"

click.

"_Bastard..."_ FeiLong laid his back on the armchair, rubbing down the center of his forehead with two fingers.

This phone call with Asami was enough to make clear to him that the decision he took was the best thing for everyone.

For himself, for Baishe, and...

Asami never let him to feel indifference. It was a heavy admittance, but that was the truth.

FeiLong could not give a name to what he felt, but…

Deciding not to have to do with anything that concerned the Yakuza's personal stuff was the best thing he could do. He would never hark on this decision.

The Chinese stood up and came out on the veranda.

The breeze, with its delicate fragrance of seaweed and its salty taste, messed up his long, obsidian-colored hair. FeiLong gathered them in one hand and turned his gaze to the beach.

Hikaru was sitting on the shoreline. He was hugging his bent legs, with his chin laid on the aligned knees and was looking at the sea.

FeiLong thought again at the incredible conversation they had had only few hours earlier in the winter garden.

_"It's me," he said with a smile, and he was not joking. How can someone, with such serene smile, freeze the blood in your veins?_ – FeiLong asked himself.

_"Hikaru… you can't be serious…"_

_"Liu-sama… I'm not asking you to do this now, but if I would take this decision, if one day I… Please, keep your word. You said that I could ask what I wanted..."_

_And then the boy had explained in great detail what he wanted and how he wanted it to be done._

FeiLong wanted to know the man who was able to bring this boy to that point. But Hikaru had never mentioned his name.

The Chinese took information about the younger man, and immediately it seemed inconsistent.

Miwa Hikaru was abandoned at birth and given in temporary custody to a couple of quite elderly people. He had an absolutely normal and quiet childhood and adolescence until, within two years, he lost both his foster parents by natural death. He attended the last year of High School when he remained alone.

Here the inconsistencies began. He had maintained his residence in the home of the foster parents, but he not lived there since almost 5 years. With the little amount they had left him, he could never efford the kind of life he actually had. He had attended a famous and expensive private academy of music; he had taken countless journeys abroad (Hikaru had just come back from a 2-month-journey in Europe); he could never have had the luxury clothes, nor the jewels, he worn when he was wounded.

Now, however, everything was quite clear. Hikaru was a kept boy … End of the inconsistencies.

FeiLong shook his head.

_"I always keep my word. If you'll ask me to do this, I will do so," he had replied to Hikaru._

_The boy had thanked him._

_How could someone thank you for this?_

_"It's an absurd way to take revenge on him, are you aware of this?" the Chinese said._

_"Is there any kind of revenge which is not absurd, Liu-sama?"_

FeiLong smiled in spite of himself.

Hikaru was right. To oblige yourself to hate someone and to live for 7 years only to hurt him because of you didn't want to admit that…that you...

Well, it is no less absurd.

Meanwhile, the long haired man noticed that the boy was standing and looking toward him.

FeiLong found himself to rise his hand and greet him. Hikaru was shaking his right hand, greeting back.

The sun made the diamond that the boy had set on the ring he carried on his left thumb shine.

A Kept Boy's Diamond.

***

Asami was smoking, sitting at his desk and listening to Kirishima's record on the resolution he had implemented about several small "problems" during the day.

The latter stopped talking when he noticed the little actual interest his boss had to what he was saying.

"Asami-sama?" he asked him.

"Kirishima, look at this," the Yakuza said, handing him a folder with, on it, the header of a well-known civil lawyer "it arrived today…"

Asami's right-hand man took the documents and gave them a quick look. He had no need to read them carefully; it was Kirishima that had followed the matter and he knew what they were.

Kirishima smiled bitterly: it was really ironic that it had arrived now …

Hikaru had asked him many times what the matter was...and now that all was done, he was not there.

"Asami-sama, I think that at this point we should find Miwa-kun and say to him that…"

"No," Asami abruptly interrupted him, "It seems to me that I have already talked to you about this. What part of the sentence " _you_don't_have_to_look_for_him "_ is not quite clear for you, Kirishima?" he continued, crushing the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray.

"I apologize for my lack of respect, sir, but…"

"But? Are you trying to controvert me, Kirishima?" Asami replied with a cold tone, rising from the armchair.

"I'm sorry," the other man said, bowing his head.

"Well. You can go now…"

Kirishima laid the documents on the desk and headed toward the door. He opened it and then turned again toward his boss, asking: "And if he'll not come back?"

Then he left.

"_If he will not, I'll bring him back. I'm only allowing him a little time..."_ Asami thought, narrowing his eyes.

***

Rumi Matsunaga arrived at Asami's office at Club Sion at 9.00 in the evening.

She had to withdraw her boss' directives and some documents, but Asami-sama was no longer in the office.

The woman entered the room using her key. It was usual for the Yakuza to leave a note for Rumi in his office about all the things she would have to do next day.

Rumi was in a good mood that evening. To be true, the day had started badly because of she had received a new note of expenses, relating to Hikaru, which informed that, about 3 months ago, it was purchased for the brat a ring, whose cost had a disproportionate number of zeros.

Her mood got better when she heard the rumor that Hikaru had moved out … maybe the hated brat was out of her life… finally!

She took the notes that Asami had left on the desk and then noticed the folder of legal documents.

"I thought that for the building permits we had to wait at least another two weeks," she said, opening and starting to read.

"Oh gods!" she exclaimed, with a shocked expression.

The woman closed the folder and sat on the boss office's sofa.

That was not a building permits. That damn document attested that, after a year from the submission of the request, from the 15th of April 2xxx (or the current day) on, Mr. Miwa Hikaru-san had been legally adopted by Mr. Asami Ryuichi-san and that his name would be changed to Asami Hikaru-san, that he would be included in the family register of Mr. Asami Ryuichi–san, etc etc.

Rumi swallowed.

She knew her boss very well... she knew his "tastes" and she also knew, as everyone else knew, that in Japan most part of the _yôshien-gumi_, namely adoption among adults, were only a substitution for legal recognition of same-sex relationships. A way to "marry" someone in spite of the law.

"Oh my gods ..." she repeated.

_**to be continued***_


	9. My little princess

_**Sorry, self beta again, but from next chapter on, I will have wonderful betas, I promise XDDD_

**Chapter 9: ..:: My little princess:: ..**

Feilong walked slowly barefoot in front of the big library in his bedroom. He had just finished to dinner and was looking for a book to read. The Chinese chose a not too voluminous one, to be able to finish it by the evening. From tomorrow and on, he would have started various business meetings, and would have had very little free time. He hated to suspend the reading of a book for too long.  
The elderly housekeeper, who came to bring the tea a quarter of hour later, found him reading sat on a large armchair beside the window. He was wearing a dressing gown of black silk, so light that to hold it between your fingers, it would be like holding nothing, and trousers of the same fabric. The long black-raven hair was carelessly tied in a low pony-tail.  
The woman, almost without producing any noise, laid the tray on a little coffee table next to the armchair, made a bow and, without any sound, she walked toward the door.  
"Just a moment, Xiangyun," the Chinese seemed to remember something "could you tell me where my guest is?"  
"He is watching the sea, LaoBan; he has never stopped since this afternoon. He did not even eaten, yet." She replied, with an almost imperceptible voice, perfectly suited to her movements"  
"What? ...Is he still on the beach? It's a quarter to nine...." FeiLong said. It seemed more a consideration then a request for an opinion, but the woman interpreted her master's question in that way.

"In my humble opinion, Laoban, that boy will lead to problems. It's obvious that he is influenced by metal element: he is unreasonably obstinate and not adaptable. Whatever thought there could be in his head, he will not change it, and I have the impression that it is not a harmless thought" she concluded, then she made a bow and, always without the slightest noise, went out.  
Feilong frowned. He had the impression that Xiangyun would suggest him to rid of Hikaru as soon as possible.  
The long haired man closed the book, and headed to the beach. The moon was not full, but it was an incredibly bright waxing moon, that coloured the white beach of a mid blue.  
Hikaru walked along the shore, without detach his eyes from the _nothing_ he had in front of him.  
"Hikaru..." Feilong called him. He knew that he was searching for the boy for not for an altruistic gesture of understanding, but mostly for a selfish desire to hear another of his strange reasoning.

He went to seek him only because the book he was reading was quite boring, or, at least, this is what he said to himself.  
Maybe it was not the case, but to desire the company of someone was a feeling that FeiLong had experienced only few time in his life, and he could not admit it so easily.  
The boy answered but didn't turn.

Feilong reached him. They stayed standing, side by side, watching the sea that was white where the moon was reflecting itself on the water, and then faded to a dense black that was melting into the dark sky.  
"Do you want to know what I really like here, Liu-sama? Despite all these foot-marks that we leave on the sand, tomorrow the shoreline will be _clean_. The tides will erase every sign of our presence here. If there is a place where you can expect to become _nothing_, is here, on this line. Neither land, nor sea ... "  
FeiLong sensed that Hikaru now wasn't talking about the sea, but about someone who could erase you from his life in one night. Someone who could forget you and make you feel "nothing". Someone....

Someone who will forget you, but meanwhile will conitue to claim you for ever...  
"Liu-sama...?" now it was Hikaru that was watching the older with an interrogative expression.  
FeiLong narrowed his eyes: that boy always pulls him within his nonsense, and this thing bothered him.  
"You can call me Feilong" He said, after some minutes.  
"If this doesn't offend you, I'd prefer to continue to call you Liu-sama. I think it would be embarrassing, when I'll decide to ask you to do it, to be killed by someone who I can call in so intimate way..."  
"Hikaru, I believe that you should not..."  
"Liu-sama" the boy interrupted him "you have given me your word..."  
"I know. But I don't want to harm you and...... "  
"Why?"  
It seemed a silly, useless question, but the Chinese was just asking to himself the same thing.

He didn't know the answer.  
"What kind of question is this?" Feilong asked back, instead to reply to him.  
"Don't get me wrong: I'm flattered for your interest in me, but I find it a bit strange... especially since you always seem to move in a bubble of aloof loneliness."  
Feilong, with a quick move that prevented every possible reaction from Hikaru, grasped the wrist of the boy with his right hand, tightening strongly.

A complaint scaped from the boy's lips.  
"Do not take too many liberty with me, brat! I believe that you are not aware with whom you are talking "  
"Sorry..." Hikaru said, lowering his eyes.  
Feilong let go of his wrist, but the boy grasped his hand.  
"If you'll smile at me, I'll give a you gift!" The boy said, suddently changing his mood.

***

**_"Today there's so many people at Grandfather's house. They are all dressed in black and had sad faces. I remember that Dad said that we would have made a great party for my 4th birthday, but it takes a month to my birthday. I don't know how many fingers you need to count one month... but they are surely a lot! _**_  
**And then birthdays are not sad. **__  
**Nanny was crying when she dressed me with these new clothes, and I did not understand why. **__  
**I like this dress very much; it is like the grown-up dresses... like father's... I get to wear a tie... **__  
**Nanny said "Your mother is no longer here, she has gone with the angels" and I thought that going with the Angels must be beautiful... So why nanny is crying? **__  
**And then, I hardly meet my Mom, because she was sick. I don't understand. But it must be a bad thing to be sick. **__  
**I'm always with Dad or Grandfather. **__  
**Grandfather says that I am the future of this family, because I'm a boy. But when he says that, his face is sad. He has only daughters. **__  
**I did not understand what "future" is, but I understand that it is better to be boys than girls. Everyone here does what my grandfather or my dad order, because they are boy. **_

**_I want that everyone does what I order, too. _**_  
**... **__  
**There is a strange smell because of those sticks that you can light up. I would like to run outside to play with Ritsu, who is my "body guardian", but Nanny said no. **__  
**I asked her why Mum is dead if she didn't want to die, and if nobody else wanted her to die. Nanny said that death can not be "commanded". I do not like the things you can't command. **__  
**... **__  
**This thing they call **__funeral_**_ is boring, but I am happy because I'm in Dad's arms, so I'm higher then everyone else. _**_  
**My dad doesn't cry. Never. **__  
**But with me he smiles, only with me. **__  
**Nanny says that we are similar, me and Dad, but it's not true, I am small and he is so big! **__  
**But we have the same eyes. They have the same colour, the colour of the gold, Nanny says. **__  
**Nanny looks too much to my Dad... My dad is only mine, and that's that!**__  
**... **__  
**Finally we are at home, so I can play with Ritsu. **_

**_..._**_  
**My dad calls me in his office. I don't remember what wrong thing I did, but if he called me there, it means that I did something bad.**_

**_In the room, there is also a grow-up girl - dad says she is 7 years, and I need 2 hands to count that - and my dad tells me that I have to play with her, that she remains here from today on, because she kept company to my mother instead of me, and now she is alone because my Mom is with the angels._**_  
**The girl seems so sad, so I decide to cheer her up by tickling her. She laughs a little. **__  
**"My name Himeko" she says, and smiles. **__  
**I like this girl, so I take her hand, because now she's mine. **__  
**"Hello Hime *- chan, I am Ryuichi". **_

Asami closed the door of Hikaru's apartment behind him. He could have sent Kirishima to leave the small onyx box on Hika-chan's piano, but he felt that this gesture was for him to do, even if Hikaru was not there, even if he didn't know where he is now.**  
**"_I allow you some time Hikaru, and I hope that you'll come to your senses... Don't oblige me to come to rescue you..."_

***

"He is definitely insane... and beautiful" FeiLong thought, closing the book that he had just finished and turning off the lamp on his bedside table. The sky began to whitening.

"_Gift?" FeiLong asked. It should have freed his hand; he didn't like to be touched without permission... usually. But he left his hand in Hikaru's._

_Hikaru nodded and took FeiLong with him in a night walk on the beach. _

_The older man thought that Hikaru had a behaviour that could be Tao's. Indeed, no... he was too childish to be Tao.  
There were some trees that reached almost the sea._

_"Here it is the snow!... Isn't it beautiful?" the boy said, smiling.  
Feilong stopped some step behind Hikaru. He batted his eyelids.  
The sight he had in front of him was really unusual: A snowstorm... in that unusually warm spring?_

_In that clear April night , on the edge of the sea... it was snowing... warm and soft snow. _

_The sea breeze, now tenser, make the air swarming about of white flakes, the beach was white.  
"These are only the elms that sprout..." the Chinese said, after the few moments that he took to go from amazement to concrete... He had never had time in his life for more than that.  
The boy turned toward him "Right... - he said with a sigh - but sometimes we see only what we want to see.... __Sorry if I wasted your time." The young man was obviously disappointed because of his reaction. __In the moonlight the boy pale face, his delicate nose and his mouth nicely sulky gave him an unusual charm._

_Feilong bit his lower lip."I didn't intend ..." _  
_"... but - Hikaru interrupted him - maybe I could not have the possibility to see the next snowfall... Do you remenber? You gave me your word.... " _  
_"You have .. decided?" Feilong felt a strange sense of emptiness at that idea. _  
_The boy shook his head: "I'm allowing time to myself. If this will be my revenge, it will be a choice, not the foolish act of the moment. I'm not suiciding shocked by the pain, out of my senses. I want _**him**_ to know that I lucidly planned to give him a sense of guilt that will ruin their lives forever, both lifes of them"_

_His eyes were two blades in the dark. __  
__"I don't want to kill you ..." Feilong whispered._

_"This is not my problem" the boy said, and passing next to him, walked toward the house._

"... Fragile and sharp as glass..." and grinning, FeiLong closed his eyelids, now heavy because of sleep.

***

It was 7 o'clock in the morning. Akihito was in front of the building, address of which he had gotten from the library card. This was apparently Hikaru's apartment. It was located in an elegant residential district. Entering the building would be not difficult, considering that it was rather a detached house with four apartments in western style, with a beautiful garden around it.

The problem was to figure out which apartment was Hikaru's.  
The photographer walked around the building. In all the apartments the everyday life began to wake up, and then it was immediately clear which of them was empty.

Second floor - an half-opened balcony door ...... too easy!

As photoreporter, Akihito had to climb (and fall) from more difficult places... In few minutes the boy was on Hikaru's balcony, pushed the door and entered.

If Asami had someone to "guard" the apartment, shortly he would be there .

Well, Akihito wanted some answears: for him, it was the same if he could found them by himself or if it would be Asami to give them.

"This house is "fake"..." Akihito said, running his gaze around.  
Tha house was cold. All in a perfect order, despite the slight deposit of dust let you understand that no one had come there to clean up for at least a couple of days. The photographer crossed the big living room. The paintings on the wall, also for not expert eyes, gave the idea to be of some value. But there were no photos on the walls, neither on the shelves.  
Furniture and accessories were antique.

And cold.  
In the master bedroom there was a wardrobe full of expensive clothes, expensive shoes.

And cold.  
There was a smell of smoke in the bedroom: there was an ashtray on a low table, but the wooden cigarette's box was empty.

It was not Hikaru who smoke here...And it was not difficult to see who might have been.  
_"I knew, it is not a surprise ... I knew it... But Asam risked his life for me, not for him, and when I see in his eyes and I understand what his feelings are, he is not watching him, but me. _

_Hikaru left him, and Asami let him go. He doesn't go to rescue him, although this time he wouldn't risked his life, even though this time he is not injured...."_

But...

But...

What Akihito saw in that house did not answer to any question, just like Asami didn't...

Who the hell was Miwa Hikaru?  
The photographer came back in the room with the piano, and only then noticed the black onyx box on it, and opened it.  
Inside the box there was a ring made of white gold, or platinum, wide and flat. It was clearly never worn. Outside, it was completely smooth, but inside there was engraved, with a delicious manufacturing, the image of a sun rising from the sea.  
"_Only those who have more money then what is morally acceptable can spend them for a such beautiful work in a place where it can't be seen"_ the boy thought.

He put again the ring in his box, and the box on the piano.

Akihito decided to leave. No answer there, either.  
He was almost out of the house when he noticed a door, behind a curtain, he never seen before. Akihito entered the room and forwned: this place had nothing to do with the rest of the house.  
It was a simple room: a desk, a chair and a wardrobe. - Old, cheap furniture - but there was a beautiful window from which the morning light entered. That was a room in which you can smell life, and it was warm...  
The photographer opened the wardrobe. A high school uniform and a schoolbag. Into another door, clothes: faded jeans, sweaters, shirts, a little lise pair of sneakers. No Name-brand's clothes, clothes that could also be Akihito's. Clothes of an ordinary boy.

And then, a box with pictures in it. Hikaru's pics  
In one of them, the boy was smiling, in traditional outifit between two elderly: perhaps his parents, or grandparents. There were photos of a music essay. Akihito read the date on the back of them, Hikaru could be 16 in that pics. There were also a lot of pics of Hikaru and his friends and schoolmates.  
Then, letters...

Akihito did not read them, he read only the addresses on the envelopes: only on one of them there was the address of this house, while the others were all addressed to another place.  
The sender of the letter was the library. It was not so personal, so Akihito thought he could open it and read.  
" 01.18.2xxx

To Mr Miwa Hikaru -san. Please, find attached the new card with the change of your residence, as you requested .... "  
The photographer laid the letter somewhere, and swallow: that was the first letter that Miwa-kun received in this house, and probably this strange room was full of things that came from Hikaru's life "before" Asami.  
Four years ago... Hikaru was with Asami since four years...... four!!!  
"It is Hikaru that was usurping my place... or it is me that usurp his???..." Akihito thought, while tears begun to fall from his eyes.

***

Asami had just arrived in his office at the Club Sion. In a few hours it would have taken place the business meeeting.  
The Yakuza noticed that the folder with the adoption's documents was still on the desktop. He wondered why Rumi left it there.  
Asami took it and went to put it into the hidden safe. He dialed the combination and laid the folder, along with the other documents, on the lowest shelf of the safe.

Then he raised his eyes on the top shelf, where standed out a black onyx box. Asami took the little box and opened it.  
Inside there was a platinum ring, inside engraved with the image of a sun rising from the sea.

Asami looked again at the folder with Hikaru's documents.  
"Now it's official" he whispered. And he wore his ring.

_* Hime = Princess _

** To be continued **


	10. You've pierced my life

**Can't turn back the tides** by **Silke_chan**

**Chapter 10 : ..:: You've pierced my life ::..**

Akihito collapsed on the chair, in the room that was totally out of place in this house…  
He hadn't thought about this… he had never thought about this…  
Four years ...

Hikaru was about seventeen years old when he denied his past, closed it in this dusty room and started to live with Asami… or for Asami.  
And Asami? He had held the boy for four years and he had probably betrayed him hundreds of times, but he never left him, not even now, because it was Hikaru who moved out…

It was not Asami who had made the choice. The photographer now felt quite sure that Asami didn't want to choose!

He was sure that Hikaru had asked it to of him which was maybe the reason that pushed Miwa-kun to move out …  
"_What does the bastard have in mind_?_ To keep a__n__ Harem? But if he believes that I……"_  
Akihito's heart began to beat quickly…… Fear... it was fear that he was feeling now…

Fear in realizing the depth of feeling that bonded him to the Yakuza. Fear in realizing what he would have been capable of enduring so as to not lose him. Fear in realizing that his desire for him was stronger than any happiness.  
Asami had taken his life.  
Akihito rose from the chair, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand: now it was clear that truth, or ignorance, would not have changed anything .. He would have always loved Asami, he would have remained with him in this condition even if it lead to his death.

He was leaving the room when he noticed that one of the pictures from of the box had fallen on the floor, with the back facing up.  
Picking it up, Akihito noticed that the date on the back was written with a female calligraphy. It roughly dated back to eighteen years ago. When he turned the picture over, he was dumbfounded.  
At first glance, it almost seemed to him that one of the two people portrayed in the photo it was Hikaru...wearing a make-up!

Taking a better look at the picture, Akihito realized that it was a girl in her twenties, that resembled Miwa-kun in an impressive way. She had a more delicate oval face and deep black shining eyes framed by long raven hair tied into two rakish braids. She also seemed to be very petite.

The girl was poking out her tongue to whoever was taking the picture and she was embracing a tall and sturdy boy with a stern look in his eyes. He seemed very bothered by the girl's childish behaviour. The young man was wearing a high school uniform. Thanks to the Roman numeral on the collar of his jacket, it was clear that he attended the second year. The very handsome boy had long chestnut hair which reached his shoulders, and two intense golden eyes …. He was Asami.

***

It was raining again… not the torrential rains of some days before, but only a very slight liquid veil that gently watered the city. Spring's rain has something different than the others. It falls down lightly, it is thin, and almost warm.

Feilong was sitting on the low sill of the full-length window in the Sion's meetings hall.

The Chinese man wore a slate grey suit, with no tie, and kept his long hair tied in a braid that began from his nape. Sitting with his right leg folded underneath his bottom, he was looking outside. The business brunch organized by Asami finished before it was expected to; it was an absolute success to everyone's satisfaction. Each of them, including Feilong, had gained a lot from those two hours of conversation.  
The Chinese man was waiting for Asami to come back after he greeted the other guests.  
FeiLong was worried.  
The feeling of unease that he felt, precipitated by a re-gained familiarity with Asami in Hong Kong some days ago, was actually attributed to the fact that he was not yet clear in his mind what to do.

With disappointment, the Chinese man realised that this "feeling" had affected him during the phone call of the day before.

With regret he had noted that it hadn't stopped a moment to sting him today, although they where with several other people.

With dismay, he was afraid to discover what would have happened now, given that the two of them would be alone…

Within a few days, they would have concluded the agreement "suspended" seven years ago… with the difference that in the last seven years he had lived only to remember Asami, with the intent to take revenge on him. In the future he would lived only to forget Asami, with the intent to recover his own life.

The important thing, now, was that Asami was not aware of this "feeling" in Feilong's heart, or else the Yakuza would have used it to obtain a bigger "contracting clout" that would benefits his organization.  
The Chinese man would not allow him him to do so: if there was going to be someone to earn more than the others thanks to this "agreement", then it would be the Baishe.  
Asami entered the room with his ever-present cigarettes hanging from his lips.  
FeiLong turned his head towards him.  
"Congratulations, FeiLong… our dear friends are excited about your business proposals," Asami said, approaching the younger man, "but some are much more excited about you…" he added, with a naughty smile, tilting his head so as to be able to look better at the younger man.  
"I'm glad there are bargains to be concluded with them," Feilong said, deliberately ignoring the appreciation expressed by Asami, even if only between the lines. No references to personal matters, not even to reply to a witticism.  
Asami frowned, obviously disappointed by the impossibility to start an amusing skirmish with the other man.  
_" Thought you could make fun of me, bastard…"_ FeiLong thought.  
Asami crushed the butt in the ashtray, and sat in front of FeiLong, his right leg supported on the left, his head tilted to lean against his hand, while his elbow was rested on his right leg.  
"Well, Fei… sorry, FeiLong," Asami said, stressing his voice on the last word, "So, you convinced our friends to invest in objet d'art. Fine! What they don't know is that the complete transition will be: drugs in exchange for weapons, weapons in exchange for dirty money, dirty money in exchange for objet d'art to sell to them, to launder the money… "Asami smiled, pleased, lighting another cigarette.  
"Not to mention that all the passages in question provide added value for the two of us…" FeiLong added, taking his long pipe from his briefcase.  
"The two of us…." Asami said, with his usual trademark grin. "By now, I didn't hold out much hope on this connection between me and you…"  
"Between Baishe and your organization, to be exact," Feilong corrected him, regretting his defensiveness to the idea.  
"Sure, sure…." Asami grinned, which made Feilong terribly annoyed with himself.  
Obviously amused by the Chinese's man's bothered expression, Asami leaned forward to light his pipe.  
"Your hand…" Feilong whispered, only now spotting Asami's bandaged hand.

_"Memories have shadows too long for me to avoid them, despite the long passage of time…. Seven years disappeared in a second… damn, damn!" _

"FeiLong?" Asami was watching him with questioning eyes…  
"You have once more shielded someone from a hack with the back of your hand?" He asked with a smile, preventing a possible joke by Asami.  
"Uhm .. something like that… but it was not a knife...it was only broken glass…"Asami said, playing with the thumb of his left hand with the ring he wore on his ring-finger, in a manner that, to FeiLong, seemed slightly elusive.

***

Hikaru couldn't sleep, but had spent the whole night, and a large part of the next day, lying on the bed, without even eating.  
Now it was 17.00 and he was still there, barely covered by a yukata with the heko tied in a careless way.

It was always this way: when the suffering was unbearable, he was in a total apathy.  
He didn't want to understand, didn't want to think. He just wanted to cry, or scream…or to crush something…  
The old housekeeper said that Liu-sama would be back very late today. If he had of been here, time would have flowed faster.  
Hikaru closed his eyes.  
Ryuichi-san had seduced his mind, his body and his heart, .He wanted his life and now Hikaru belonged to him…  
Now who could ever teach him to live without Asami?… As for him, Hikaru, what should he have done with this stifling love that would have grown even if the older man was not with him…  
Maybe he had to return to the Yakuza… or perhaps he had to ask Liu-sama to keep his word and to kill him, so he could taken his revenge and also end the emptiness he felt…

"_I want to sleep…_"

"_I don't want to think…"_

***_*******_

**_"Don't forget! You must not forget…. Ryu, you can't forget... you swore… "_****_  
The first thing is her name… Morita Himeko.  
Second: a pouting mouth, and her smile that filled the air…  
Third: is the smell of that night… the smell of jasmine: sweet, strong, penetrating…  
Fourth: his name: Suzuky, and his gun. It should not happen ever again. Nobody will take, again, what is mine.  
Fifth is the shot in the dark… the lightning in the night, the smell of gunpowder, the deafening noise that splits the ears. But I didn't feel pain .. I didn't feel anything… there was no blood on me ... then I turned toward her……  
Sixth: the wound that ripped Himeko's soft chest… and the smell of her blood…  
Seventh: her black, velvet eyes… her widened eyes that looked at me with dismay…  
_Now. All. Was. Finished._  
"No… why? Why?"  
"Ryu-chan .. goodbye…"  
__"No, no, no ... _****_I swear you will not die..."  
"I'm dying Ryu…"  
"No. .. Himeko, breathe, slowly... for me…"  
"Yes, I'm dying… but he, he… I've just found him… you have to love him, protect him, please…"  
"I say that you will not die… don't dare to leave me!"  
"He is alone, now. Swear that you'll def end him…Swear you'll love him, you'll protect hi m."  
"Himeko … stop it, don't controvert me! I said that you will not die! Kirishima, damn! Where is the ambulance!?"  
"I'm dying… swear, swear… now he is yours, swear!"  
"I swear…… Hime-chan"  
"Goodbye, Ryuichi…"  
The last thing is a farewell._**

***

Feilong was sitting on the back seat of his car, coming back from Club Sion. The meeting should have taken place at 18.00, but it was brought forward after the brunch and lasted less than expected.  
After Feilong had expressly stated to accede to Asami's proposal of an active cooperation, they examined the preliminary topics, that both parties would think over for a couple of days, and then they would meet again to discuss the details. The "join-venture" included both legal and illegal business, so everything had to be organised with accuracy. Short reckonings make long friends.

Even by today's meeting, where Feilong and Asami had discussed matters privately, without their collaborators, it was immediately clear how this would be advantageous for both organizations.  
No doubt about the "gainfulness" of the business then, but they were well aware of this even seven years ago.  
The only doubt was reserved for the fact that the agreement would be based exclusively on mutual trust… and this was the real problem.  
The two organizations had had several fights in the recent years, and often because of totally irrational and anti-economic reasons like revenge or vengeance, as Asami had not failed to point out.  
Feilong never flinched at that hint, he foresaw it. Asami wanted to know if the Chinese man was able to keep faith to the commitment they were taking, without adopting "emotional behaviours" again in the future.  
The long haired man knew that he needed to demonstrate, with his behaviour and decisions in the coming days, that he was a reliable partner.  
Which is why he should absolutely prevent Asami from sensing that he felt this "thing", that he could not explain, when they were close, and that the older man's gaze on him caused memories that he didn't want to resurface…  
If Asami understood that Feilong's intention was to begin the operation and then leave everything in Wang's hand, in order to avoid direct contact with him, he would also have understood that the "irrational and anti-economic reasons " were still in the Chinese man's heart, and this would gift him with a power that Feilong could not allow him to have.  
A question that harboured in the leader of the Baishe's mind, namely why Asami, while not having done anything of what he had always accused him for years, even though he knew that Feilong wrongly believed that the Yakuza was the one responsible, hadn't done something to change this state of affairs.

Feilong had tossed and turned this question on the tip of his tongue several times today. But he didn't ask.  
No personal involvement, no questions not related with business, no reference to anything outside of the Baishe direct interest.  
He also did not ask about Akihito….  
Feilong took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Making himself more confortable on the seat, he let his hair down, served himself a bourbon in an old fashioned glass, and tried not to think about Asami, or at least not in that way.  
Savouring the amber liquid that slightly burned his throat, he realized his anger at himself because he was forced to admit that Asami still had an effect on him.  
The Triad leader, in his life, had dominated hundreds of men, had killed enemies and traitors, but he was not yet ready for Asami's smile. Asami was, at the same time, the knife and the wound.

He had stolen seven years from his life, but, fortunately, in only a few days he could give him his last goodbye.  
Another glass of bourbon.

***

The evening now bled, as it made room for the light that precedes the fall of the dark.  
Asami was seated on his office armchair, while his cigarette, lying in the ashtray, was slowly wearing out.  
The Yakuza laid his face on the back of his left hand, and took the platinum ring between his teeth, while he caressed it with the tip of his tongue.

As usual, wearing new things is bothersome in the beginning, but he would have a lot of time to become accustomed to it. He would never take the ring off and would wear it till his dying day.

Three days were enough to think about the situation. For Hikaru, time had expired!  
Someone was knoking on the door. Asami lifted his head and gave the person permission to enter.  
Kirishima entered, followed by Suoh.  
"Did you asked for m…"  
"Find him!" Asami interrupted him, with a dry voice.  
"Yes, boss," Kirishima seemed relieved to hear that order, "and… in case he is not alone…?"  
"What?" Asami replied, narrowing his eyes.  
"Sorry, Boss… but I thought that Hikaru had nothing with him, no money, no documents or other things, and we know that he is vindictive .. knowing about Takaba-san, maybe he could think to pay back you with your own ... "  
"Well, you " kindly " make this "someone" to understand that it is better for him not to cause me troubles… and if this "friend " has dared to touch Hikaru with even a single finger…"  
"Yes?"  
"… Then kill him. But Hikaru must not attend to any kind of violence, is that clear?"

***

Hikaru was walking on the beach, the sand wetted by the afternoon's rain cracked under his bare feet and the sea bellowed rough, somewhere behind him.  
He wore only the yukata, although better tied. It was a little cold, the moon was nearly full and the sky smooth.  
He wasn't able to fall asleep… Morpheus had decided he did not want to cooperate with his desire for oblivion, and so the boy knew he stood in front of another terrible night of waking, thoughts and memories… And he didn't want to think .. at least for a few hours. . . He needed a truce.  
He was reaching the house, its lights on the second floor were turned on. Hikaru understood that Liu-sama was at home.  
The boy left the beach, crossed the patio and entered the villa. He climbed the stairs and headed towards Feilong's bedroom. He knew that he would not sleep this night, he knew that in the villa there was not a piano to take it out on , and he knew that in FeiLong's bedroom there were so many books. He hoped that he could borrow one, so interesting to distract him from his thoughts, or so boring that it could help him to sleep.  
Hikaru knocked on the door, and entered when he received permission to do so.

Feilong was standing outside, on the balcony, with a glass in his hand. The tense breeze that night sinuously swayed his long hair and made his soft white silk trousers adhere to his body.  
The Chinese man turned his head towards Hikaru, asking him to approach.

Feilong's dark eyes, gloomy but at the same time shining, seemed to be tired: the moonlight drawing a dark shadow which lengthened them even more, making them seem more feline.

The unbuttoned pyjama jacket, also of white silk, was caught by the wind, and left his chest naked, and enlarged behind his back like a banner, or wings.  
Hikaru, behaving shyly, approached the remembrance of an "angel" that he had seen when he was delirious because of the fever.  
"Liu-sama, I came to greet you good night and also to ask you to lend me a book…" the boy whispered, now a few steps from the Chinese man, while was trying to tidy up his yukata.

He felt non-presentable and was surprised that this feeling matters to him now.  
"You can take any book you want, Hikaru." Feilong said, smiling, then seemed to notice something, and approached the boy.  
"Well, it seems that the bruising on your face has practically disappeared," he said, raising the boy's face with his right hand and caressing his cheek and his lips with a finger.  
Hikaru blushed…… they were too close, and he could scent the smell of the man's hair, almost a mixture of delicate green tea and spicy cinnamon.  
FeiLong batted his eyelids. He knew he should not have had a drink, but he always remembered this too late.  
He looked at the usually bold boy that all of sudden seemed so shy.  
The wind was messing up the boy's hair and left his childlike forehead uncovered. His nose was so delicate and his mouth was pulpy with soft and rounded corners.

And then there were those eyes with their absurd color. Black with golden flakes.  
FeiLong approached closer to the boy, to whisper in his ear "You are beautiful…"  
Hikaru would have wanted to say or do something, but he could not think coherently because they were too close, because Feilong had surrounded his waist with one arm, and because the older man was still whispering something in his ear.  
"Tell me no, Hikaru… or..."

_**~ To be continued ~**_


	11. In the arms of the angel

"Please ..." Hikaru whispered, closing his eyes, unable to move.  
"Please what?" Feilong asked, rubbing the boy's neck with the tip of his nose "please yes… or please no...?" His words were a tepid breath in the boy's ear.  
Hikaru swallowed .. this man's fragrance, his velvet voice….

The young man raised his eyes to fix them in those onyx orbs.

The Chinese man's long hair slightly veiled his forehead and his half-closed eyes were fading in a mischievous smile. Under the moonlight, Feilong's features seemed so pure and impalpable.

Hikaru gazed from him and shook his head.

"Angel..." he whispered imperceptibly.  
Feilong laid the bourbon glass on the nearest wicker table, and then leant his hands firmly on the young man's waist, intertwining them on the centre of his back.  
"Silence gives consent…" he said, pulling the boy in, closer to himself… now the distance of their bodies was as thin as a veil, such that only a feather could exist between them.  
"Fine … I'll count up to three… and then I will interpret your silence as a _yes_…" the Chinese man added, leaving a light kiss on the delicate lobe of Hikaru's ear.  
"One .." he whispered while his tongue came down on the neck.  
"Two .." he continued while lightly touching the nipple with his tongue.  
"Three…" he sighed while sucking it greedily.  
The boy arched himself against him, and from his lips escaped an"Y-yes .." suffocated by a low moan: the response of his body removed any grievance from his reason, shouting doubts down and shutting thoughts away in a remote place.  
Feilong laid his forehead on Hikaru's, whispering on his lips in a mischievous tone: "As you wish…."

He gently cupped the boy's face and brushed his lips on the boy's wounded one. The cut had begun to heal, but its roughness was in contrast with the softness of that full and round mouth.

A rush of anger rose within the Chinese man toward whoever was the responsible for that wound.

FeiLong felt Hikaru's body move slightly backwards, but he did not want to accord him the necessary space to allow his doubts to creep in between them. So his right hand moved down the boy's left arm until it met his waist, and then reached the small of his back, before pulling his body towards him with a slight and delicate movement.  
The older man began to kiss the boy with growing fervor and prolonged touches, while Hikaru's hands relied on his arms with open palms, as if he wanted to push him away but he didn't have the necessary willpower. Rather than push him away, he simply clung to Feilong's silk pyjamas, to hold himself.

Now the younger man's lips began to give themselves up to the older man's. He responded to a kiss, then to another, and slightly opened up his lips, the tip of his tongue brushing the line where the other man's lips joined.  
Feilong groaned, amused, and allowed him access to his mouth. A sort of wet and passionate dance began. They separated because of a lack of air, and remained to stare into each other's eyes for a long moment.  
Now Feilong was absolutely sober, and he knew that he really wanted the boy, for the only and good reason that he was beautiful, sensual and hot.  
The older man knew, however, that someone had reduced Hikaru's heart to crumbs: it was only his pride that had prevented his heart from breaking. Feilong did not want to hurt him any futher.  
He had promised to kill him, but did not want to hurt him… so ironic, but so true. Because of some mysterious reason, he cared.  
"Are you really sure?" Feilong, asked, and his voice was _velvet_.  
The boy nodded, because he could think about nothing but the man that stood in front of him… nothing but the hair that the wind led to caress his arms and his cheeks, nothing but those dark eyes that magnetized his own without pity, nothing but that voice, pure velvet, which caressed his ears and tortured his senses.

Feilong was the more voluptuous truce that Destiny could give to him.  
Hikaru said "Yes" before lowering his head to brush the other man's chest with soft touches of his lips.  
Feilong smiled and let him, caressing the younger man's back with his fingertips, which is cold under the light cotton of hisYukata, and gently brought him towards the bed.  
The long haired man laid his back to the headboard of the bed and Hikaru, who knelt beside Feilong, pushed himself forward, starting to descend with his lips along the older man's chest, capturing under his mouth the wires of black silk that were his hair, and his ardent skin.

Feilong smiled in amusement, thinking on Hikaru's short-lived shyness.  
The fingers of one hand dove amongst the boy's hair while he placed his other hand under the light fabric of the yukata, brushing his fingers on Hikaru's now lukewarm skin, and slipped the fabric down from the boy's shoulders.

The garment fell down, rubbing the smooth curve of the boy's back, and rolled up around his waist, stopped by the belt.  
The Chinese man approached Hikaru to whisper something into his ear, but then suddenly changed his mind and his tongue tasted the salty flavour of the sea on his skin, where the neck bended, whilst his fingers lightly caressed the small of his back.  
The boy closed his eyes sighing with pleasure, whilst Feilong's lips journeyed along the shoulder and forearm, kissing them, licking them and biting them again and again.  
A long groan escaped from the lips of the younger man, which caused a shake of desire to reverberate directly in the Chinese man's groin.

The long haired man moved upwards, again with a hand traversing along Hikaru's shoulder, and then down his chest only to stop and tap a nipple that blossomed under his touch.

Hikaru's fingers were lost in long strands of silky hair that smelt of cinnamon and green tea, whilst the beat of his heart became impetuous.  
Feilong pulled himself back, so his hair flowed like water, one by one between the younger man's fingers, who was now watching his empty hands, almost with dismay.  
Without notice, and with a mischievous smile, the long haired man grabbed the boy's hips and stooped on his belly, on his navel, putting his tongue inside.  
Hikaru remained for a moment without air and his heart almost lost a beat, while the older man, continued to draw, with the tip of his tongue, strange paths around the belly button, reached for the yukata belt's knot, undid it and then carelessly threw them away.  
Feilong let his gaze run over the boy's naked body ; from the golden glare of his eyes, to the fullness of the lips, from the smooth curve of the neck to the beautiful rounded profile of his shoulder.

The Chinese man's eyes went down along the curve of the well-shaped muscles of his chest and belly, and then along the long and willowy legs.  
Hikaru, taken by the need that was devouring him, struck out toward Feilong and kissed him, slightly opening his lips, as a silent request to penetrate them with his tongue.  
Feilong nestled him, whilst caressing his mouth with his tongue.

Hikaru reached down for the the trousers of the man's pyjamas, and Feilong left his lips to ease the task to take it off. That impalpable silk soon kept company with the yukata on the floor.  
They were both naked under the light of that unreal nearly full moon, and stared at each other.  
The Chinese man, feeling the blood flowing at a terrific speed in his veins as it reached the centre of his pleasure, approached the boy, laid hands on his hips and pushed him down.

Feilong lowered himself on him, putting his face side by side to Hikaru's, murmuring something that, in this world, it was only for him to hear.  
Overcome by the pleasure, Hikaru pushed back his head , arching his back and lifting it out of the bed, while the older man's hands slipped along his sides and then under his body to cup his round ass. Feilong rose again to Hikaru's lips, violating them with sweet arrogance, and the boy responded with enthusiasm to his kiss, intertwining his fingers in his long hair.  
Feilong put his leg between the younger man's and their erections met, giving both of them a sob of pleasure: their desire became unbearable and the kiss became wild, so passionate to leave them without breath and without the power to think straight.

For a moment everything existed only in the sound of rough seas outside, and in their panting breaths inside.  
"I'm going to take you..." Feilong whispered hoarsely, and Hikaru had to open and close mouth a couple of times to be able to breathe properly again: everytime the older man's voice reached his ears, he shivered deep inside.  
The older man brushed against the boy's face with the back of two fingers, stopping the caress when they laid between Hikaru's half-opened lips.  
Hikaru began to suck them, his tongue playing with them with deliberately allusive movements, and sprinkling them with his saliva.  
The older man took his soaked fingers away from Hikaru's mouth and so the boy lifted his head, kissing the Chinese man, devouring his lips, and pulling him towards his own body, whilst his erected cock brushed the other man thigh.  
A first finger was laid on his opening, forcing it gently open. Hikaru immediately felt an irritating intrusion. Instinctively his body drew back slightly, but Feilong's tongue in his mouth began to dance, so much to make him almost forget the intrusion.

Soon another finger tried to add to the first one, as the fingers began to move with skill, to please and open him. The younger man began to moan, in that moment. The Chinese man pulled out, and placed himself between the boy's legs, raising them and kissing the inside of each thigh.

Feilong lifted his eyes toward Hikaru, who replied to his mute question by biting his lips, with imploring eyes. To wait became unbearable even for Feilong and he began to push to get into this body.  
The boy closed his eyes, not feeling pain, but a feeling of "foreignness", as Feilong continued to push slowly, penetrating him with decision, only stopping once he entered completely, to allow Hikaru to get used to the new sensation.

The older man raised his head towards him: his breath was heavy and his eyes were veiled with pure pleasure.

He leant on the young man, laid his lips on the other's, slowly pulling out slightly and then pushing back slightly, deeper and deeper.

The boy began to moan loud, as he let him penetrate every part of his body, with his cock, with his tongue, with his scent, with his velvet voice.  
Completely lost in a limbo of sensual delirium, Hikaru felt Feilong's hand on his cock and completely lost himself: he came with a scream, bowing his head backwards, back arching, and sticking his nails into the older man's flesh.

Feilong came seconds later, thrusting inside him more forcefully. He dropped on him, and pulled out. He rose on his elbows, so as to not harm the boy, whilst his hair fell to caress the chest and face of the young man beneath him.

The sun was now rising, pouring a glowing red into the sea, almost melted copper, and lighting, with golden hues, the two sweaty bodies.

***

The teapot on the stove began to whistle. Akihito got up from his bed and went to turn off the fire. He poured the boiling water in the filter of the tisanière, where he had already prepared the crumbled leaves of red tea, and watched the amber liquid seep slowly into the glass cup.  
He waited a few minutes sitting next to the table where the cup was, and then took it in his hand.  
That spring was particularly hot, but at 3.00 am a cup of boiling tea was very welcome… if only it could warm your heart, in addition to your stomach….  
The photographer sat on his bed again, and sipped the tea, without sugar... there is nothing you can call "sweet" tonight…  
Why was he doing all this? Why was he so worried about the relationship between Hikaru and Asami?  
Moreover, Hikaru moved out, and Asami didn't seem to have the intention to look for him...  
The Yakuza had not even put security on Hikaru's apartment, since no one had stopped him when he entered the house, otherwise, Asami would have come to order him to keep out of his business…  
Akihito laid down on the bed, with his eyes staring at the ceiling.  
In fact, after seeing the pics of Asami with the mysterious girl, dated around twenty years before, the photographer had strangely felt more relieved.

He was almost convinced, himself, that the link between Hikaru and Asami was not about love, or sex, but probably was a different kind of bond.

Akihito knew almost nothing about Asami, he had to admit to himself, not without a hint of displeasure. The girl, whose name he had discovered thanks to another portrait of her on the day of her graduation, could easily be Asami's sister…or an old flame… or a childhood friend.  
The very fact that the pics of that girl were among Hikaru's, could easily meant that she was bounded to him in some way, not to mention that Miwa-kun looked just like her.

"Probably, Himeko Morita-san could be Hikaru's mother, uhm...not. Presumably she is his older sister, given the small age gap between the two of them…" the photographer thought, whilst sleep began to capture him…  
Not succeeding in receiving an answer from Asami, and it being impossible to talk with Hikaru, Akihito began to think that perhaps he could try to contact Himeko-san. He knew her name, the school she had attended, and her date of birth. If she still lived in Tokyo, maybe...  
The reflection of the moonlight, that struck the remnants of cold tea left in the tisanière, recalled, to Akihito, the golden flakes of color in Hikaru's eyes.

Suddenly he understood what had "disturbed" him when the two of them met the first time… in those eyes there was something that reminded him of Asami's own.  
For a moment, the possibility that the boy could be the Yakuza's son flashed in Akihito's head, but after fully falling prey to sleep, he managed to realize that there were only thirteen years of difference between Hikaru and Asami.  
"Even thoughwe are talking about Asami, thirteen years are too few…."

***

**_"I closed my eyes and I re-opened them a few seconds later, but the sight that I have in front of me has not changed. Himeko is always there, with that wound blooming in the middle of her milky breast, like a red rose ... like an ornament on an evening dress. _**

**_I brush aside a wisp of her long black hair that hides her face. A livid whiteness on her cheeks has replaced the velvety flush that marked my always making fun of her, as a cold sparkling of obsidian-color replaces the warm caress of the black velvet of her eyes. _**_**  
**_**_I hold her, by passing one arm under her now cold armpits, and the other under her knees. _**

**_Her body is heavy ... whereas it had always been so light... _**_**  
**_**_Her head tilts back and her arms hang. _**_**  
**_**_I think Kirishima is saying something ... frankly, I'm not interested. _**_**  
**_**_I say to him to call the ambulance and say that we have no more need of it, and to "clean up" this place. _**

_**Nobody will know that here a crime has taken place, nobody will touch Himeko's body with a pathologist's bistoury, no trial will ever take place. **_

_**For Himeko, there will be no justice, there will be revenge. **__**  
**__**I will be the judge. **__**  
**__**I will be the jury. **__**  
**__**I will be the executioner. **__**  
**__**The verdict is death. **__**  
**__**Holding Himeko's body in my arms, I start walking towards the car, and I can hear footsteps behind me. Kirishima and Suoh are following us. **_

_**A little, strange parade: a beautiful woman's body in her last **__**journey**__**… a trail of blood behind us, a feeble moonlight on us. And an horrible awareness. **__**  
**__**The one who took my little princess's life, shot her, but he was looking at me. **__**  
**__**It was not an accident, it was not destiny. It is called in-direct revenge.**_

_**....**__**  
**__**I am still alive because I killed without mercy, because I saw what hatred and fear really are.**_

_**I understood that night what hatred really is, and I understood what pity really is when I saw the hands of my father, a man who had murdered many in his lifetime, caressing, for hours, the hair of that corpse, that once was Himeko. **__**  
**__**And I understood myself in this small cemetery, now that I'm saing goodbye to her for the last time, with this nice boy at my side: I'm a rapacious bird, magnificent in flight, and **__**ferocious when **__**falls upon**_ _**his prey.**_

_**.... **__**  
**__**They will pay for everything..."**_

4.00 am.  
Asami lit another cigarette and looked out of the window of his office, in that building made by glass and metal.

The moon was nearly full and it coloured the night in a silver tinge, which the Yakuza found terribly annoying. Or perhaps it was that inexplicable feeling in his head that was annoying, that feeling you felt when it seems that you've forgotten something, or that you've lost something.  
The man inhaled the smoke slowly, then let it slip again from his half-opened lips.  
What a strange night.

Despite the warm temperature, despite the moon it was so bright, and there was fog outside. Or maybe the fog was inside this office.

***

It was raining again.

Akihito walked with slow steps, keeping out of the rain by means of an umbrella that seemed too colorful for the locale.  
The night before he had decided to concentrate his research on Morita Himeko, who should have been about thirty-eight years old now.  
That morning, he had visited the editorial office of the newspaper for which he had often worked as a free-lance reporter, and with the help of a girl who had a weakness for him, he had sought information about Miss Morita.

Thanks to the website of the exclusive private school that she had attended twenty years ago, he had found her.  
And so now, in this late April morning, he was walking in this small cemetery outside the town.  
The temple was placed at the foot of a small hill, and near the temple's garden there was a grove with a cemetery in it. It was not a macabre place; it was rather a very melancholic place.  
The photographer asked himself what he was doing in this place.

He was not there to obtain information, that he certainly couldn't obtain from a dead woman. Probably, he was not looking for the truth, he was looking for Asami.  
To love someone and not to know anything about him was possible, and, if you love a man such as Asami, perhaps it was even desirable: but it was as love through a veil.

It may be transparent, but it's always something that acts as a filter, preventing people from really touching each other.  
Akihito came close to a very simple tombstone of pink granite.  
Only the name, date of birth and death was carved upon its surface.  
Himeko had died almost five years ago, at the age of thirty-three years.  
The tomb was covered with a large quantity of lilac flowers, which filled the air with their violet color and their feeble fragrance.  
Akihito said a prayer for the cheerful girl with black braids.  
"Good morning, kid," the voice of a woman turned his thoughts away from Himeko.  
An old lady was taking care of a tomb near Himeko's.  
Akihito smiled at her.  
"I've never seen anyone near that tomb," – the lady said – "also I come here to see my husband every day," – she added.  
"I am here by chance," – the photographer lied – "I stopped here to watch these beautiful flowers..."  
"Oh, but there always be fresh lilac flowers on that tomb. Only violet lilac flowers. It wrings my heart to see them, because I can imagine the feelings of the one who brings them here…" She added, while she was collecting her things, ready to leave.  
"How can you understand it by the flowers?" Akihito asked.  
The old lady looked at Akihito with reproachful eyes, "Young people know nothing about a lot of things… every flower has a meaning. Who chose these lilac flowers to adorn this tomb, did it for a precise reason..."  
"And what is the lilacs meaning?" He asked, bringing his gaze upon those clusters of delicate flowers that shone under the drops of rain.  
She replied "Here in Japan, lilac means _first love,"_ and, bowing in farewell, she moved away.  
Akihito continued watching the tomb.

In that cemetery, the only noise that kept him company was the tip-tap of the rain on the tombs and the cobblestones.  
After a while, but he would not have been able to say how much, he was about to leave.

Then, he heard a metallic click, but he had no time to turn back, and felt the cold barrel of a gun pushing against his back.

***to be continued***


	12. The weak point

In the last chapter: "_Akihito continued watching the tomb. In that cemetery, the only noise that kept him company was the tip-tap of the rain on the tombs and the cobblestones. After a while, but he would not have been able to say how much, he was about to leave. Then, he heard a metallic click, but he had no time to turn back, and felt the cold barrel of a gun pushing against his back."_

**CHAPTER 12 ..:: The weak point ::..**

"Be quiet, kid, and nobody will be hurt..." behind him, a gloomy voice said.

The sun had just emerged from behind the clouds and cast three silhouettes on the cobblestones. The man that was aiming at Akihito was not alone.  
"I'm going to frisk you," – said another voice, deep and calm – " … raise your hands and put them on your head. Don't attempt to make thoughtless gestures, and nothing will happen to you."  
Akihito swallowed. The idea that an unknown man could put his hands on him again, after the recent horrific events, for the photographer was almost unbearable.  
He began to tremble imperceptibly, and he understood that he was panicking. He tried to breathe slowly and to calm down… The boy was scared that the fear would compel him to do something that would make the two men angry at him, and this could dearly cost him.  
With great relief, the body search proved to be exactly that: with no attempt at harassment by the two men.

Akihito calmed down slowly, and began to focus his attention on the movements of the two men.

While one of them was still aiming at his back, the other man was carefully reading his documents before moving away from them, to discuss something on his cell with someone else.  
"Ok, Kujo, you can lower the gun now, the brat is only a photographer…" he began to say to his accomplice, " Kid, you can relax…" he added towards the photographer without, however, giving him back his identity papers.  
Akihito turned, with a doubtful expression on his face; he was still very worried, but something in the two men's expressions seemed to relax him a bit.  
The boy eyed them carefully: the two had nothing different in their appearance compared to Asami's or Feilong's men, they simply seemed more "relaxed".  
"Unfortunately, Takaba Akihito…" the man that kept his documents continued "…you have to follow us to answer some other questions, at the Police Station."

He began to move towards the cemetery's exit, while the other man waited for the photographer to follow his colleague.

***

FeiLong tapped his pipe on the top of the mahogany table. He was with Wang in the room of the villa used as a meeting room.  
Standing, his back supported at the table, the Chinese man loaded the tobacco in the bowl of his long ivory pipe, and breathed in, while Wang approached the flame, and then blew away the smoke parting his lips, with unconscious grace.  
The nineteenth-century grandfather clock, that well suited the Old European style of furniture, indicated it was 2.00 pm in the afternoon.  
FeiLong gave his henchman permission to leave and then allowed himself the inappropriate behaviour of sitting on the table, to enjoy smoking.  
The Triad leader realized that all morning long he had adopted a very relaxed behaviour, definitely far from his usual self...  
The window opened out onto the small beach and allowed the brisk spring afternoon air to permeate the room, together with the light coolness caused by the morning's rain.  
The sea was slightly rough and his incessant, repetitive and merciless singing came from all over.  
Throughout the morning FeiLong had very carefully examined, together with Wang, Asami's business proposal in every folder, in any quibble, trying to understand where the blemish lay.  
"_This conviction that Asami will surely try to __trick me, coud it be__ the result of my insecurity?"_ FeiLong asked himself, rising up and going out on the veranda.

Even if that were the case, he had to consider the possibility that Asami would try to get more of what was legitimate, for him, to gain from their agreement. Being tricked by Asami, even if the Yakuza would only do that out of his damned habit of teasing him, could very dearly cost FeiLong.  
He knew very well that, only a few weeks before, he seriously risked losing everything, the confidence of his men, and even the Baishe, because of his rash and emotional actions in trying to take revenge on Asami.  
For years he had masked his true motive, seeking revenge for his step-father's murder, for what was in fact revenge against the man who had abandoned him.  
It was very hard for him to admit that Asami was what he wanted, and being used and then refused by Asami was what what he really wanted to avenge!  
The stubbornness that led him to almost lose everything, was it wounded pride or frustrated love?  
He didn't know, and at this point it didn't matter. In only a few days, Asami Ryuichi, with a little application and a little luck, would be forgotten.  
He had to admit, however, that his _fixation_ for Asami gave him, at least, the advantage of having "studied" the man very well.

_Know your enemy…._  
Wanting to be fussy, Asami was about to become his _ally_, but he would always be an opponent. FeiLong would not allow him an easy match.  
Wang, a few hours earlier, had asked him if he had an idea about who would have been Asami's trusted man to deal with Baishe.  
_"To know that informaion in advance would be very useful for us, Liu-Laoban. We could organize our act according to his modus operandi, analyze his weak and strong points, take information about him and his family, etc…"_  
_"I know who he will be, Wang…."  
"Asami has already informed you, Laoban? It seems impossible that he has given us this advantage"  
"Obviously, it was not Asami who spoke the name to me. But I know."  
"Great, Laoban! Can I ask who he is?"  
"Yoh."  
_Wang had watched him with unbelieving eyes, receiving a sharp look from FeiLong as a response to his expression – one that questioned the word of his master.  
FeiLong was sure he was right. There were no other men in Asami's organization who knew Hong Kong, the Baishe and **_him _**better than Yoh. If they wanted to trick Asami, to diddle Yoh would have been very difficult. Not to mention….  
… Not to mention that Asami – and Feilong was sure about this – would never lose the opportunity to continue to oblige the Chinese man into facing the fact that he was able, in the past, to control him in his house for seven years, thanks to that man.  
_"Psychological subjection, right? Bastard!"_ – the Chinese man thought – "U_nfortunately, this is a weapon you can use against me, but not against Wang, my dear Asami...and you don't know that it will be him and not me to manage all our common business…_"

On one hand, the idea that there was something in the game that Asami didn't know, amused FeiLong very much. But, on the other hand, this "necessity" for him to move away from the Yakuza led the long haired man to understand that, in his heart, there was still a fire that was smouldering under the ashes.

***

**"There are three categories of people. Those who look, feel and live life just like any other idiot in the world, perhaps intelligent and successful people, but of mediocre sentiment. These people make you feel reassured, and terribly bored.  
Then there are those who manage to make you understand things in life that if you had been a little more alert and less employed in all-day-business, you'd have also seen: these people know how to surprise you and demonstrate that, although you are _a chronic, bastard son of a bitch_, there is something yet that can amaze you.  
And then there are people like Himeko, people which create things that should not be: to her, every thing in this rotten world was miraculous and had the sparkle of spells. **

**She could also give _to a chronic, bastard son of a bitch_ like me, the feeling of having a soul, too.  
Now that she is there, six feet under the ground, where the sun will never ever caress her, I believe that my soul has been buried with her.  
Anyway, it is normal to have doubts about my soul, after the meticulous, wise and lucid massacre I perpetrated to avenge her death.  
To avenge Himeko, I betrayed her one last time: she always said that her mission in the world was to "save me", but now I know that I will never be "saved". Nevermore.  
Strange to have this thought, when I'm a man who never thinks back to what I've done in the past . My motto is: no regret, no remorse. Never.  
I think this regurgitation of conscience depends on him, this boy in scholastic uniform that Himeko forced me to allow him into my life with her last breath. **

**It depends on that small part of her that lives within him.  
He is sitting at my side, gently swinging his head as he follows the music of his Mp3 player, and he eyes me through the reflection of the window.  
"How old are you?"  
"Seventeen. Almost eighteen."  
God, he is so similar to her, it is almost frightening.  
Fortunately nothing in him reminds me of his father; not even his eyes, which are different from his mother's. For some strange reason, they look a bit like mine.  
"Why are you looking at me?"  
"You are very alike to your mother…"  
"Then, you are seeing her, not me! Sorry, but you are allowed to only see me when you look at me!"  
Hikaru is just like you, Hime-chan, he says things that can leave me ****astonished** **_also a chronic, bastard son of a bitch _****like me, and with a great nerve and a total lack of modesty in the bargain!  
And in this case, he is not like you, Princess…  
"You're wrong, kiddy. It was just you that I was watching." I answer him, and it is true.**

**But I realise that I should not watch him in _this_ way…. I should not think about him in _this_ way… and I should not kiss him the way I'm kissing him now…**Sitting on the armrest of the chair in his attic's living room, Asami was looking at the Sun as it ignited the city in its fall towards the horizon, all those skyscrapers made by cement and metal lit up by its blood-color.

He crushed the butt in the ashtray and narrowed his eyes.  
He hadn't met Akihito for nearly two days, and he wanted him.  
The Yakuza had just ordered Yoh to go to Akihito's home, to wait for him if he had been outside, and take him back here "by hook or by crook."  
Asami lit another cigarette.  
He also had to solve the problem of Hikaru, who had disappeared for nearly 4 days…

What was that brat doing, and, above all, with whom was he?

Now it was evident that someone was helping him to hide, otherwise his men would have already found him. But this 'someone' was helping him in exchange for what?!?!? Hikaru was so tempting... and so shameless...  
Anger grew inside him at this thought. "Nobody touches what is mine".

***

FeiLong exited the small terrace on the top floor of the villa. Hikaru was sitting quietly on the railing, his legs dangled in the void, his head slightly tilted as if to suggest that he was following a mute melody.  
"This is a game that is a little dangerous, isn't it?" The Chinese man asked approaching the railing, hands joined behind his back.  
Hikaru slightly turned his head back "Oh no, it is not… a game." He said, smiling, and then he sat astride the railing.  
"Is everything ok?" The older man asked.  
"I was listening to the _music_ of the sea… it helps me to think…"  
He had not replied to the other man's answer.  
"Bad thoughts?" FeiLong asked then, while brushing aside a wisp of his long hair, that the wind had laid between his lips.  
The boy jumped down from the railing and, with eyes suddenly serious, took FeiLong's hand.  
"You still intend to keep your word?" He asked, with a doubtful look.  
FeiLong addressed him with a sharp look and freed his hand from the boy's.  
"Hey boy, you might have questioned my word once too often…" the older man replied in an icy voice.  
"You're right, I am sorry. But, well… I thought that after last night ...that the two of us… being together, maybe you don't want …" He lowered his eyes," However, I am pleased that for you nothing is changed since yesterday," he said with a smile, which contrasted with the slightly cracked tone of his voice.  
"Obviously, what do you think that a fuck could change?" The Chinese man replied, with indifferent eyes.  
FeiLong couldn't tell why he was being deliberately odious, or rather, he knew why, but he did not want to admit it, since he considered his reaction quite petty.  
After a hard working morning, and after he had to face his twisted feelings for Asami one more time, FeiLong was looking for Hikaru simply because the boy made him feel good.  
The Triad leader liked to be in his company, he liked to talk to someone who didn't have that almost fanatical respect which his men or his servants always showed for him. He even liked to hear him say things that he would not have wanted to hear. He liked that he was not supported only because of the fact that he was Liu FeiLong. He liked that the brat, unconsciously, never feared him, and he especially liked that Hikaru had no relations with his _job_, with Asami and everything the underworld entailed.  
FeiLong loved the boy's odd arguments, that sometimes forced him to reflect on things that he would never have admitted, he loved the younger man's boldness and enjoyed his whims …  
And then he liked to look at him, to caress him, he liked his taste and very much liked making love to him. And he wanted him again.  
That is why to find him chewing over the absurd idea to waste his life for revenge, or worse yet, the feeling that he was regretting what had happened between them, bothered FeiLong very much.

The young man apologised again, made a bow of leaving and was about to go.  
"Hikaru, come here…" the Chinese man said, with a sweeter tone of voice.  
The boy gave him a very doubtful look, but he obeyed and approached, staring at the ground.  
"Are you really still thinking to implement that absurd revenge?" He asked him, brushing the boy's cheek with the back of his fingers.  
Hikaru closed his eyes at the touch, surprised to realize how he had missed the other man for the whole morning.  
He smiled "Yes, I was thinking about that, but…"  
"But?"  
"I was thinking that it wasn't _him_ who chased me away, Liu sama. I went away by my choice, and it was not because of the slap. It was because, in that precise moment, I started to have a doubt, a doubt that had never crossed my mind in these five years…" the boy frowned, as he had to find the right words to explain.  
"Before meeting him, I had another life. A life that I liked. I let him erase it only to stay with him because I loved him, and I can't imagine how someone could love more than that… I didn't love him for whim, or lightness, or because I had no one else in the world, or for his money. But because the _need_ I had for him was even stronger than the knowledge that I would not have been happy, but... But, while he knew exactly what he was doing, I was only creating an illusion in which I felt very good. But, if it's true that you can't trick yourself, it's also true that you can't trick life for so long…"  
"So, when I woke up here, in this house, before I risked dying, I began _to take leave of__myself_. What I was once slid from me; desires, feelings, anxieties: it was as if I could watch them from the outside. It is as to dying… but lighter and with less pain. I was not interested in the future anymore…" Hikaru stared at FeiLong to see if he could understand.  
_Waking up in a hospital after having risked dying, shot by your real father, having lost everything, desiring to have beside you someone who was not with you, and that did not want to be with you. Taking __leave of__yourself at the point when prison, or death, did not seem horrible things…_ FeiLong stared at the boy to let him know that he understood. Of course he did!  
The boy smiled, and continued "But then… then last night, when you and I … well...last night I realised that there are desires that can save you. Although at some point you can't desire things without getting hurt, because if you stop to follow them you'll die. And …

"_...and _..._so last night, even though I saw all my dreams of five years slipping away from my fingers, I could think of nothing but you…"_ he would have liked to say, but he hadn't.  
" and.... that's all…" he said instead.  
"I'm happy to not be obliged to kill you, Hikaru…." the Chinese man said, brushing the young man's forehead with a kiss.  
"I think I have to face reality…" the boy sighed "...but I don't think I can do it, yet…" he added, laying his head on FeiLong's shoulder.  
"You can stay here Hikaru, until your mind is made. I will leave Japan within three or four days, but the villa is at your disposal for as long as you want…" he said, caressing Hikaru's forearm a couple of times, and then extending his caress to take his hand.  
_"Perhaps the most "adult" thing to do is to go back and ask Ryuichi-san if, in these five years, when he looked at me he had ever seen me, or had he always seen _her_. Or maybe I must surrender, and leave what I always wanted for me, to Takaba-kun, being content with what remains. But it places no importance on what I want, as always, it only places importance on what Asami wants…" _Hikaru thought.  
"Hikaru, is everything ok?" FeiLong asked, holding him tight.  
The now familiar scent of cinnamon and green tea, was like drink to Hikaru's senses, and again all thoughts seemed so far from him.

***

Akihito was withdrawing the documents from the hands of an officer.  
At the Police Station he had to reply to several questions: why was he in that cemetery, in front of that tombstone? Does he know who was buried there? Was he there for his work? Etcetera.  
The photographer handled the situation quite well, in fact it was not the first time he was in such trouble. In the end he convinced the police officers that he was there by chance: he went to visit the temple for a photo-reportage and then he moved into the grove and the cemetery.  
Akihito would have liked to ask them why the police were interested in a woman dead five years before, even if he knew that the police were always interested in all that concerned Asami. The authorities tried several times to frame-up the Yakuza, but they had never managed to find anything with which to accuse him…  
While the photographer was moving to exit the Police Station, he heard a voice that called him back. He turned and recognized Araki-san, an old friend of his grandfather.

The old man was a newshound interested in crime news, now retired.  
The man invited Akihito to drink with him, and so, in front of a steaming cup of coffee, Akihito heard the man asking him the same questions that were addressed to him by the police.  
"The only things I want to know from you is why you were in that cemetery and why you were so interested in that particular grave?" The journalist asked, while giving him the coffee.  
Akihito thanked him with a small bow of the head, and took the cup in his hands.  
"Why this question, Araki-san? I was there by chance, as I said… but, it should be me asking you why you are so interested in this 'tombstone', or maybe why you were at the Police Station, considering that you retired three years ago!"  
The man frowned, and then replied "Uhm... I will explain all to you, only if you swear not to try to investigate on this 'thing'. You never know these people…. These men are very dangerous…"  
"Really? I promise that I will not chase any _unknown_ dangerous men! "Akihito said.

The journalist nodded, and began to tell the tale. "'Til three years ago, I was dealing with a case of underworld infiltration in the sphere of local politics, but I never found any evidence, and then I had to retire because of my wife's illness." His voice faded a little at the memory of his wife, who had died one year before, but he continued.

"There was a young exponent of a powerful underworld family who was making his own way so quickly and so cleverly to always remain with clean hands. I won't tell you his name, otherwise you might be tempted to…"  
"I agree, I would certainly be _tempted_…" Akihito interrupted him, smiling to himself.  
"His ascent very much bothered a rival group, which for years had tried to undermine the power of the family at issue, even with methods considered shameful in the underworld.

Obviously everything that I tell you was revealed to me by my informants, and I have never had evidence to support what I'm saying..."  
Akihito nodded. He knew very well how those things were…  
"I investigated the guy and the people around him, including the nice woman buried in the 'lilac's tomb'. When I heard about her sudden death, I was sure that she was dead because of the feud between the two Yakuza groups.

Even if officially it was a natural death, I'm sure she died because of her proximity with that Yakuza. I think that she was his girlfriend…" the old man said, sipping his coffee.  
"Girlfriend?" Akihito asked, while his heart skipped a beat, and perhaps with a little too much emphasis… but the old man seemed to not notice it.  
"Well, I think she was… or she was a childhood friend… but they surely weren't close relatives, because she lived in the the Yakuza's family home since she was a little girl."  
"As I said, I investigated her, and it was not difficult. She was a "normal" person, with a normal life. Indeed, that girl, Himeko was just not made for the world in which she had to live. I spoke with her friends - she had lot of friends - everyone loved Himeko. She was beautiful, sunny and kind. Himeko owned an uncommon sensitivity, a beautiful soul. Indeed, you could say that it was that sensitivity which '_owned_' her… but she was so fragile... "  
"I understand…" Akihito said. He felt so confused: Asami probably loved her very much, the lilac flowers proved it… especially if she was so different from him.

This consoled Akihito, because he was also very different from the man that he loved with all his heart and soul… but the end of Himeko frightened him. It seemed a bad omen for his love…  
"One of my best informants told me a thing that I don't know whether it is true or not, but it was very horrific. As I said, this rival group often used really outrageous methods, even for the Mafiosi. Apparently, just to offend the young Yakuza's family, they kidnapped the girl and raped her. She was 16. It seems that because of that violence a child was born…"  
_Oh my god... oh my god… he is talking about Hikaru. The abused woman's child is Hikaru! _  
"The head of the household, that loved Himeko as a daughter, decided that the bastard son of the violence would not ruin the life of his beloved Himeko: he would not remind her of the pain for all her life! The baby disappeared for years..."  
Akihito could not speak… he realized that now he was privy to too many things he was not allowed to know… and he knew that Asami would not forgive him for this intrusion in his private affairs. Never. He felt the tears sting his eyes.  
"Unfortunately, destiny was very cruel to the girl, and she died when she was 33 years old, probably killed by the same people who raped her … And then, the Hell on Earth began.

The rival group of Himeko's family was literally torn. .Slaughter. No one could ever prove that Asami Ryuichi was involved, but it was clear that it was his revenge…"  
"_Asami… Araki-san had called him by name… and he is staring at me with a sad expression." _

He had understood! The old man understood that the photographer was involved in that terrible story …  
"Akihito, run away from these people. Asami's rival group is reorganizing, because the police are on alert…. **_Any_** weakness of Asami Ryuichi will be in jeopardy. Especially the boy, Himeko's son, will be a target…. Particulary now that Asami, two days ago, formalised his relationship with him thanks to that sort of marriage…"  
"W-what?" A voice full of pain interrupted him.

The old man heard the noise of a cup that went to pieces and then he looked to Akihito, reading on his face a suffering that he failed to interpret.

***to be continued***


	13. Red moon

The moon was full, huge and low on the horizon.

And red, like a cup filled with blood.

Akihito was sitting on the expensive leather sofa in Asami's penthouse, where the air smelled of leather, tobacco and brand-name whiskey.  
The boy had his arms crossed on his chest, and looked at Asami with a defiant attitude, but he was perfectly aware of the fact that the Yakuza was able to read, behind his feigned indignation, the suffering that he was feeling. He wanted Asami to believe that his heart did not belong to him, if only for a second, so that Asami would believe that he could lose him.  
The Yakuza was standing beside the window, his shoulders supported by the glass and his ever-present cigarette poised between his lips. Asami had his eyes closed.  
Now that Akihito had spit, on the Yakuza's face, all his pain and his humiliation, the older man was obviously considering "how" the boy had been able to know the truth about Hikaru, the adoption, Himeko and everything else.  
Akihito was there, standing as still as someone who was waiting for his sentence to be read.

Asami had sent Yoh to pick him up out of the blue, and the photographer thought that maybe the Yakuza had already decided to inform him about the so-called marriage with Hikaru. Maybe he wanted to tell him that he was now unwanted.

_"Damn, speak! Tell me something, bastard!"_ he thought.

Akihito's eyes travelled along the unbuttoned shirt of the older man, then moved onto the arm and finally rested on his left hand.

And he saw it. _The ring._

The exact duplication of the one he saw lying on Hikaru's piano. Their official bond for all the world to see.

He saw the ring shining red under the rays of that crimson, huge moon, heavy and low in the sky. Suddenly, almost without realizing it, a warm tear slipped from his eye and remained poised between thick, chestnut eyelashes for a long moment before falling down and shattering on the marble floor. Akihito felt as if he were drowning in that single salty tear.  
The boy tightened his hands on his arms, as if to console himself in his own embrace, and brought his gaze back onto Asami's face.

And waited.  
Asami opened his eyes. Those eyes were focused with a disconcerting intensity on him, as if they had never looked upon nothing else, from beneath eyelids that watched him.  
"Hikaru and I are both men. There is no marriage in our Legal System between persons of the same sex. I have adopted him. Hikaru is now my son, not my _wife._" he said simply, with a flat tone.  
Akihito certainly did not expect to see a sense of guilt in Asami, nor apology. Maybe he expected anger, his ironic grin, even indifference, at the worst. But he did not see anything like that: he could not interpret what was really lighting Asami's eyes at that moment.  
The photographer got up. To sit in front of Asami gave him a sense of inferiority.  
"You love him so much, Asami? You love him so much to give him your surname, to put on his finger a ring that trumpets to all the world that he belongs to you, even in Law?"

Akihito was surprised that his voice sounded calm and his thoughts clear, given that he almost couldn't breathe because of a pain as heavy as lead that was crushing his heart.  
"Hikaru has become my son, not my _wif_e." Asami repeated, crushing the butt of his cigarette directly on the sill of the window.  
Akihito laughed... a painful laugh, and, in a certain sense, an ironic laughter that bothered the Yakuza very much.  
"Your son? So, it is nothing but fatherly love for the poor little orphan. Well, look in my eyes Asami, and tell me that you never ever fucked him, and I will apologise to you. Speak!"

This hurt, it hurt very much, but Akihito could not be silent. He loved the bastard who was standing in front of him. This merciless man, that had probably never lost in his life, this man who had probably never felt lost, done or desperate: the way the photographer felt now.

Asami had to understand that he did not belong to him thanks to the older man's will, but Akihito was his because he loved him and he _had decided_ to belong to him. And this had to be reciprocal. He would never share Asami with anyone...  
"So, did you ever fuck him? Yes or no?" the photographer asked again.

"Yes..."

_A blade..._

"... several times..."

_...deep_

"... Since he was seventeen..."

... i_n his heart._

"... But now he is my son." Asami said finally, as if he was underlining the biggest obviousness in the world.  
"And you will not touch him anymore, right? What an exemplary father you are... "Akihito said, he wanted to use a sarcastic tone, but his voice faded into a whisper.  
"Akihito, do you think that I can be described as a generous, kind, charitable or altruistic man?"  
Akihito widened his eyes. Hell. What kind of an answer was that?  
"Answer me." Asami's gaze was indecipherable.  
"No, absolutely not! You are a bastard, a damned pervert, a murderer, you are a... a..." but he failed to finish the sentence because of a crying lump in histhroat.  
"So, why did I come to take you back from Hong Kong? Just to show FeiLong that nobody touches what is mine? In that case, I could have simply stole someone he cared about, or killed him... or sent my men in my stead. I do not lose _my_ time with what I'm not really interested in..."

Akihito was dumbfounded.

What was that? A sort of declaration of love in the _I'm_too_cool_to_say_it_clear_ style? Or what?  
Asami moved towards him. The photographer would have liked to be able to move, would have liked to be able to walk away. But failed to do anything, because what he really wanted was what was just happening.  
Their lips met. It was not a kiss. Their lips caressed each other. Akihito felt that he was almost trembling. Fear? Desire? Confusion? Happiness...

He felt those strong arms gather around him, and Asami's lips close to his ear.  
"Akihito, Hikaru is not your problem. He is not a problem for _us,_" - Asami was whispering in his ear and his breath was warm and smelled of good tobacco - "and if your fear is that I can leave you, it's better for you to know that this will not happen even if you want it, even if you beg for it... because you are mine. Period. There are no discussions as to that..."  
Akihito was now trapped between Asami's body and the wall, his hands clinging onto the Yakuza's shirt.  
"Did you also say the same words to Hikaru? Did you say to him that I am not a problem, that he is yours even if he doesn't want to be?" It would suffice to believe him... to believe Asami and ignore all his questions. It would suffice to simply leave everything in his hands and forget. This would suffice, to be happy....  
"Hikaru is a part of my life that I can't and I don't want to cancel Akihito. I have no intentions to lie to you: I care for him, I care for him very much, and now he is my son. He is mine, but it is no longer as it was before. You and him are not alternatives to each other. You and him are different. I'm saying to you just what I said to him. Can you believe it? Can you bear this reality? Because this is my only offer."

C_ould he believe him? Could he endure that reality?_

Could he bear it until the day of Hikaru's return? Could he bear to see that damned ring at the other boy's finger?

He would have to bear seeing the heavy bond built in those years in which Asami, he could swear on this, had shaped Hikaru according to his wishes.  
Akihito felt Asami's mouth pressing against his, again. He felt his tongue demanding room between his lips.  
"_Now he is my son"_ he said... he had never lied before, Asami had made him live through horrible things, but he had never lied to him before_._

Yes, Akihito could believe him. He parted his lips and surrendered again.

***

The ocean quivered, lengthening from beneath the small terrace to the end of the night, while the moon, red and huge, poured its scarlet contents into the sea: a red wake trembled on the water, and its crimson reflexes illuminated the two naked bodies lying one above the other.  
"What is this scar, Liu-sama?" Hikaru asked, brushing the wound that Tou's bullet had left as an indelible mark on FeiLong's chest, with his lips.  
"Nothing Hikaru, it is nothing important..." the Chinese man said, whilst a fingertip traced the curve of the boy's back, stopping where it bent deliciously and then drawing small circles.  
FeiLong tilted his head in order to find the eyes of the younger man, who had suddenly stopped speaking and playing with his long raven hair.  
"Hikaru, is there something wrong?"  
"I'm sorry..."  
"What?"  
"I'm sorry for having asked about the scar. I am sorry that this let bad memories come back into your mind ..."  
"What are you saying? I told you that this scar has no importance ..." the Chinese man repeated, but the tone of his voice was much tenser than he wanted it to be.  
The boy rose on his elbows, locking his eyes with the older man's dark ones.  
"Some time ago, I said that you seemed to move in a bubble of aloof loneliness... but I had hoped that... .."  
Hikaru shook his head: "Nothing... I'm going to my room. I feel sleepy and when I feel sleepy I say a lot of nonsense..." he said, blushing and sitting to pick up his clothes scattered on the bed.  
"You hoped what...?" FeiLong asked, his lips curved in a mischievous smile, whilst he surrounded the boy's waist with his left arm to pull him in.  
Maybe it sounded a little sadistic to enjoy the sight of those cheeks flushed by embarrassment, those suddenly shy eyes, but FeiLong couldn't help it.  
"Liu-sama...." Hikaru whispered when the half-opened lips of the older man began to caress his neck with touches as light as butterflies.  
"Uhm?"  
"S... sometimes it seems to me that when we are together, when you're talking with me, and when we make love, I can almost _touch you _through that barrier. But when I asked about that scar, I felt this shield rise again and I think there is a painful memory tied to that scar... and... I'm sorry about that... I'm..."  
_"Oh gods, it was so difficult to maintain consistent thoughts when he touches me this way...."  
_"Hikaru, you really feel sleepy too much ..." the Chinese man said, with a teasing tone, moving away a little from him, to meet the other's eyes...  
"Liu-sama, you have not heard a single word of what I just said...."  
"No, Hikaru, I do not want to hear you. I do not want to talk with you about the memories that this scar bring back to my mind, I don't want to tell you who is the man that held my existence hostage for 7 years. I do not want to say to you what I feel, or not feel, for him because it will no longer have any importance. Thank the Gods, you have no relations with this. I do not want to ruin this night. What I want is to talk with you about anything else, to hear your absurd theories about life and I want to make love to you again. Period. Don't you know that I like you, brat?"  
"Me?"  
"Yes, you... and now shut up..." he said, sealing the boy's lips with a sensuous kiss.  
Hikaru thought that Heaven probably resembled this a little.  
But the sinister dark shadow that crossed the bloody moon seemed to forecast Hell...

***

The moon rose from the horizon, and was now smaller and paler, as if it had emptied its crimson contents into the sky, now of a deep red. A somewhat disturbing color.  
_"Akihito, do you think that I could be described as a generous, kind, charitable or altruistic man?"_  
Akihito was lying on his left side. He had his eyes closed, but he was awake. The only sound he could hear in the attic on the 20th floor of that splendid building was Asami's light and regular breathing.

The Yakuza was sleeping next to him, his left arm around the photographer's waist, protective and possessive at the same time.  
The boy opened his eyes and saw, as a reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite the bed, the older man's ring shining in the dark.

He drove away the image from his mind, and turned his gaze toward the man who lay near him.  
To view him this way, with the sleep that gave him a disconcerting air of serenity, Akihito felt as if he was sinking into his love for Asami. The photographer stared at his closed eyes, at the long eyelashes that cast a dark shadow on his face, at the lips gently parted and at his messy hair that almost covered his eyes. Asami seemed younger with his hair like that.  
Akihito swallowed: no one ever told him that love could hurt this much, but all he could do was surrender to his love.  
Life with Asami, would never be easy. It would never be a "normal" relationship... and not because of Hikaru, or Himeko's ghost, but because of the world Asami lived in.  
Which was not Akihito's world.  
But when the photographer was with him, as now, he felt his heart burning, and the lips that blew on the fire to feed the flames were Asami's alluring ones: he had fallen with him down to Hell, which, for Akihito was as desirable as Heaven.

***

_**"The last load arrived at its destination Merchant, the auction will be held tomorrow evening, at 21.30 p.m. The flowers are first quality."**_

_**"You always say that they are first quality orchids, Marcel, but often they are only wild roses. Are you sure that everything is perfectly organized?.... And when you speak to me use the polite form, please."**_

_**"It is all organised Merchant. The flowers are already on the Tir direct to Bangkok. The goods will be sorted on the Hills of the Waste, as usual. I told Mr M. to prepare the tent for the auction. This time it will take place on a false vessel off Hong Kong, in high seas.... The prices will shoot up when the buyers will know that you will be out of the swing of things for a while! Wipe out the supply and the demand will rocket, right? But do you want to leave the business for real, Merchant? You're monetizing all your investments. Are you crazy?"**_

_**"I said I'll have a break, it is different. And don't be too free in your manner when you're talking with me. Tomorrow will be the last auction of the season, we sell these flowers and then we pack it all in for a while. The time now is ripe: "Si. Vendetta, tremenda vendetta, di quest'anima è il solo desio* "**_ _(*) Yes, revenge, terrible revenge, is all that my soul desires ... "_

**_"Are you quoting Puccini, Merchant? We are talking about millions of dollars, and you quote Puccini. How can you abandon a business like this out of the blue!"_**

_**"First of all, when you speak to me use the polite form, second it is not Puccini, it's Verdi, from "Rigoletto" Opera. Third, for now I say goodbye to the flower market. Period. The next flowers I will buy will be the ones for the graves of Asami Ryuichi and his little slut."**_

_**"His slut is your son, if I'm not mistaken, Suzuki-san! And he is no longer his whore, Asami just married him, remember? He made an** honest woman** of him ... Ahahaha! "**_

_**"Yes, a lot of men marry their whores when they find another one, otherwise where's the fun? However you are right, Marcel, I raped his mother so technically Hikaru is my son. I have not mentioned "Rigoletto" at random. If you were less boorish, you would have known that Rigoletto, at the end of the Opera, to take revenge on the Duke of Mantua, ends up killing, by mistake, his own daughter, that was seduced by the noble libertine. The difference here is that nobody will die in error, but with knowledge of all the facts. Ah, Marcel... thank you for using the polite form.... "**_

_**"You're welcome, Suzuki-san. But all that money... could you please reconsider... "**_

_**"See you tomorrow in Hong Kong, Marcel! And tell Mr. M to do a good job as auctioneer... we need money. After having my revenge, I have an organization to rebuild...."**_

_**"But it is not necessary to suspend the activity: rather than kill him, you could sell the boy with the other flowers. If he is nicer the half of his mother, we can gain about $500,000 in selling him, and it would also be an interesting revenge... "**_

_**"Marcel.... I could never sell my son to the Gulf of Siam's clubs, run by the drug lords... "**_

_**"Fatherly love?"**_

_**"You're a bundle of fun, Marcel! How much time do you think Asami would take to find him again, especially now that one of the biggest drug lords has concluded a cooperation pact with him?"**_

_**"Do you mean Liu FeiLong?"**_

_**"Congratulations, you won a little doll, Marcel...."**_

_**"But those two, don't they hate each other?"**_

_**"Hate, love, to distinguish the border between them is like distinguishing the line between sky and sea on a moonless night, Marcel. You definitely do not know Asami Ryuichi. He could even seduce a marble statue..."**_

_**"What a poet you are, Merchant! So this is really the last load...?"**_

_**"Wanting to cry, Marcel? No, let's keep all emotions in our hearts. What an idiot! You are a killer, Marcel, if you do not have the sense of the relative, you should at least have the sense of the ridiculous (**)....! And when you speak to me use that damn polite form!!!"**_

***

At the set of the red moon, a dark dawn rose from the sea, while golden glares appeared on the purple waves. As the sun emerged, pale, from the water, it is understood that this will be a gloomy Spring morning.  
It was 5.00 a.m. and Asami was already standing. The news that Kirishima had just reported to him by telephone was not very reassuring.  
A huge amount of capital was monetized in Bangkok and transferred to the Cayman Islands: there was a rumor that the mysterious _Merchant of flowers, _the last slave-driver, was going to abandon all activities.  
For years Asami had been after the only surviving member of the Suzuki group, but he was always able to escape. The man was cunning and cowardly, all qualities which made him a subject difficult to catch.

The Yakuza had a suspicion that he was involved in the _"flowers"_ trafficking in the Gulf of Siam, but it was difficult for Asami to enter through the maze of that world, it was an incredible game of nesting boxes.  
Now, however, with FeiLong's help, it would be easier for him to find that bastard...  
Asami, sitting on the back seat of his car, driven by Yoh, had a tense and absorbed expression. As soon as he received the unclear news on the _flowers_ market, he had left Akihito to sleep in his apartment and Suoh to guard him.  
The problem was Hikaru.  
The failure in finding him bothered the Yakuza very much. He had no fears about his fate, if something had happened to the boy, he would have been immediately able to know it: his "friends" would inform him so they could ask some favor in return, or his enemies would inform him just to hurt him.  
Asami could not tolerate not knowing where he was, he could not tolerate that the boy had been with "someone" for all this time, and certainly he would not tolerate Hikaru wishing to stay away from him.  
The reappearance of his old enemy and the disappearance of Hikaru showed in the worst moment: now that all his energies should be spent in the delicate negotiations with FeiLong.  
To definitely close the agreement with FeiLong meant being able to find Suzuki alongside using all his men to turn the city upside down to find the boy.  
The final meeting with the Triad leader would take place tomorrow.  
FeiLong had had enough time to study all the details, and since it seemed that everyone was plotting tomake him lose time, Asami decided to shake the situation up to urge the conclusion of the agreement.  
It was 6.00 in the morning and he thought that, without traffic, he would reach his destination at about 7.30 a.m: Asami did not give a damn if FeiLong would consider this an appropriate time for an _unannounced__ visit_ at his headquarters on the beach!

**_ ~ to be continued ~  
_**  
_(**) The Merchant is ispired from a character from a radio drama I listened some years ago and loved very much , I had also writing down some cues and paraphrased them here_ !


	14. Going back

Hikaru awoke amongst FeiLong's hair, but he didn't open his eyes.

His mind, still numbed with sleep, suggested him not to move, not to raise his eyelids, not to do anything that could make this dream - whether this was a dream - vanish.  
He felt tapering fingers gently brushing his hips, and his eyes, still warmed by sleep, opened between the lips of the older man.  
"The baby is pretending to sleep?" FeiLong asked, in a teasing tone, tilting his head to watch him better.  
"No. .. I was... ehm...But, what time is it?" The boy asked, slightly blushing.  
"6.30 am..." the Chinese man whispered, brushing aside a wisp from the boy's forehead.  
"I'm sorry Liu-sama... I fell asleep in your bed last night ..." Hikaru continued, rising to sit.  
"I don't dislike when you're in my bed..." replied the other, with a mischievous smile.  
In that dark dawn, a pale and tired sun had difficulty escaping the blanket of haze that floated on the ocean.  
As the lips of the older man met his own, and his arms held him, Hikaru thought that this is how life diddles you. It is in ambush, waiting... and then it takes you by surprise when you have lowered your guard for a moment. While your soul is distracted, overwhelmed by its concerns, life sows in you the image of two obsidian eyes, the scent of exotic spices, the sound of a velvet voice and the caress of silky hair. Sights, sounds and scents that you will not eradicate from your soul. No more.

And this is happiness, or worse, it is desire, or worse, it is _love._

The ring of a telephone distracted the boy's attention from his thoughts.  
With a rush of disappointment FeiLong moved away from Hikaru and took the receiver.

"Liu Laoban, I am very sorry to disturb you, but there is someone here who asks for you..."  
"Who dares to bother me at this time, and without invitation?"

"Asami Ryuichi, Laoban."

....

"Far be it from me to give you the idea that your visit would not be welcome, Asami..." - FeiLong said, with a slightly ironic tone, as he entered the beautiful living room where his henchman had taken Asami - "... but I wonder what leads you here, at this hour in the morning, and without notice," he added, stopping a few steps from him, and greeting Yoh with a wave of his hand.

Yoh returned the greeting with a bow and then left the room, so that the two men could talk face to face.  
"I simply need an answer as soon as possible. Mishaps have arisen, some of which require my full attention ..." he said, fishing the packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one of them.  
"What if I have not decided yet? In this case your trip so far was an unnecessary way to divert even more of your attention from these so very urgent mishaps of yours... " the Chinese man retorted, heading towards the full-length window, with a hint of annoyance at the idea that the agreement with Baishe for Asami was just something that diverted him from _mishaps which were requiring his full attention. _  
"My life, and the one of someone I care for, are in danger, and that requires my attention..." Asami said, strangely without sarcasm, while he almost crushed the entire cigarette in the jade ashtray on the low table.

FeiLong was surprised. Asami had given him, by his own will, sensitive information about himself. Actually, the collaboration between their organizations would become so close in the future that some significant 'news' like this would circulate from now onwards.  
FeiLong glared at the sun that was fighting the haze, and succumbing to it regardless.

This was a sad dawn.

"Asami Ryuichi is worried about someone else's life? Interesting..."  
The older man approached the window too, and remained standing next to the Chinese man a few moments before speaking again.  
"I don't want him to die. It's strange that you have difficulty understanding something simple like that..." he said.  
The Chinese man didn't turn his head towards Asami. He continued to watch the sky.

It seemed that Asami would remember every single word that he had said to him in the past and drew it out in other contexts only to irritate him.

Anyway, he wonders who that _someone _is.

Considering the way Asami had referred to him, Akihito was excluded.

In another time, in another life, the Chinese man would probably have done everything that was possible to know who he was. FeiLong knew that to begin to live free from the past meant erasing Asami from the picture, and he wanted to ignore what the older man had just said.  
The tone of Asami's voice, however, when he replied, was different from usual... it was concerned....  
FeiLong only remembered hearing Asami use that tone the once....  
The time his consciousness was rushing in the dark.  
The time when he was sure that from the darkness he would no longer be released.  
The time the smell of blood, his own, filled the room.  
He instinctively brought his hand to his chest, feeling the familiar roughness of his scar, beneath the silk of his cheongsam.  
The time Asami had said, "_Don't die_". He really had said that.  
The Chinese man immediately chased those memories from his head and his heart and repeated the decision he had taken: no personal involvement, no relationship with nothing and nobody who was linked to Asami. Never again.  
"You are lucky, I can give you an answer right now..." continued FeiLong, with a neutral tone of voice, walking away from the Yakuza to sit on the sofa's armrest.  
"Well..." Asami said, turning and leaning onto the doorpost of the window overlooking the beach, while he looked for another cigarette.  
"I have thoroughly analyzed your proposals. I have looked in every folder to find any possible blemish could be, and I am surprised at not finding any..."  
Asami gifted FeiLong with his usual grin "There isn't..." he said simply, lighting a cigarette.  
"It would be the first time that you don't try to trick me...." the other retorted, giving him a significant look, while with one hand he brushed a long wisp of his hair behind his back, and then moved his head with grace to make them go to their place.  
"Points of view..." said the Yakuza, his gaze roaming his interlocutor's body, with a smug smile that proved that the sight was welcome.  
FeiLong ignored it ostentatiously. "The agreement can be done...." - He said - "the terms meet my interests and they show future gains beyond what was probably feasible. If you are of the same opinion, from this moment, I consider you my _associate_..."  
"Well, your word is the only thing I need. About the details, we could reach an agreement calmly: when a business is profitable for both sides, it is very simple..." Asami said, moving away from the windows and going to sit down on one of the armchairs covered by soft alcantara, facing back to the door.

FeiLong smiled. With that simple gesture, Asami had shown with more than a hundred words that he trusted the other. None of those who lived in their world would ever place their back to a door, if not in an environment that it is considered safe.  
"I agree. Only, for the details, you'll have to discuss them with Wang... I regret that he is not here. I would have introduced him to you, at your convenience... but you were not expected... " he said, stressing the last words.  
Asami narrowed his eyes, but did not say anything ... he knew that FeiLong would soon explain this news, with great detail.  
"Asami, you and I know that the idea of this collaboration was suggested by you for the obvious gain that you'll obtain..."  
"... and that you'll obtain, too..." the Yakuza clarified, overlapping his long legs and making himself more comfortable in the armchair.  
"... and that the Baishe will obtain, too, of course. Whether it is me who will deal directly with you or one of my most trusted men, for your interests, nothing will change... I am informing you about this only to be fair. I am not required to do so and there is no reason that this situation will create problems or doubts for you..." the Chinese man explained.  
"Yes, indeed there are no problems for me. I was just a little surprised."  
"Besides, your interest is the Baishe, beyond my presence. As usual..." FeiLong added, repenting immediately of what he had just said. It could seem recriminating, and perhaps it was. But now these things no longer had any importance to him. The only effect that could carry was a sarcastic reply from Asami, that FeiLong would gladly receive.  
But the joke did not come, surprisingly.  
"So this is a farewell...." Asami said, and FeiLong seemed to perceive a hint of disappointment in his voice.  
"I would say rather a _long goodbye_...." FeiLong corrected the older man, although he knew very well that, if it was not a definite farewell to Asami as a person, it was certainly an attempt at a definite farewell to what Asami had represented to him so far.  
Asami nodded and rose from the armchair, and so did FeiLong.  
Anything else to say about their common interests would be said by Yoh and Wang.  
They would meet again, certainly, because there were many "official" occasions at which the two men had the _duty _to be seen together, to prove to the world that their agreement was solid and how much power they had in their hands.  
One-on-one, they looked at each other: today, both were gaining a lot, both were losing something. They knew what they were gaining but didn't know exactly what they were losing: at this point, neither would go out of his way to wonder what.  
The meeting was finished.  
FeiLong moved towards the door, followed by Asami, who seemed to remember something and suddenly stopped.  
"Come to think of it, the next opportunity that requires us to meet, FeiLong, will not be so far away." Asami fished, from his pocket, an envelope made of refined silk paper and gave it to the Chinese man.

FeiLong looked at him with suspicion in his eyes.

"You can't get out of attending a reception so important for me, your brand new partner... sorry, _associate_, or none of our "colleagues" will believe in the solidity of our agreement." The Yakuza said, with his trademark grin.

***

Hands gently caressed the sheets of black silk. Akihito opened his eyes...

Obviously the bed, beside him, was empty.

Obviously sleeping with Asami almost always warranted waking up alone.

Obviously the photographer hoped that this was only a statement of fact about his present and not a metaphor for his future life...  
He sat on the bed, looking around the room for his clothes, but he did not find them.  
Akihito sighed... he had no idea what Asami, or who in place of him, had done with his clothes, but he sincerely had no desire to go out of his way to find out.  
He got up, and the contact of the warm surface of the parquet floor under his feet gave him a sense of well-being.  
Naked and with bare feet, the photographer directed himself into the privacy of Asami's bathroom. The room was enormous and he was slightly taken aback at the size, intimidated somewhat by the large space, but then it really shouldn't come as a surprise given its relation to the bedroom.  
Putting his feet on the blue granite that cobbled the room made a shiver run along Akihito's back. The photographer sat on the edge of the whirlpool bath and put his feet on the soft, warm carpet beside it.

The room was absolutely in western style: despite the splendid and sophisticated furniture, it was not a place to relax, like traditional Japanese baths, it was a functional place, as everything else that surrounded Asami was required to be.  
Akihito realised that he had met Asami in his home only a very few times... often, the Yakuza had literally dragged him into a hotel room. Deluxe, no doubt about that, but still far from his "private" world.  
Akihito smiled, stretching a little.  
Maybe taking him here and then leaving him in his house while he was not here, could really mean something to the older man.  
Sleeping together, waking up in his house... Akihito blushed slightly.  
He took one of Asami's bathrobes and headed out of the bathroom. It was nice to be wrapped in that soft sponge that was scented with the foam bath of the man he loved.

The photographer stopped for a moment to reflect on what had just crossed his mind, and he felt terribly ashamed that he could have this kind of thought, that even a teenager at her first crush would consider too sappy to think! He called himself stupid, and came out of the bedroom.  
His empty stomach claimed Akihito's attention and so he noticed that he was very hungry. Very much.  
Someone had already served breakfast in the large dining room. Frankly, Akihito would have preferred to sit on a stool in the kitchen and eat toast with a glass of milk or a cup of coffee along with Asami then stay here alone in this big empty room, where everything seemed so sterile and impersonal. It made him feel uncomfortable.  
The large choice of desserts, fruit juices and jams put him in a very good mood again, and Akihito granted himself the richest breakfast that he ever recalled.  
After overindulging with food, the photographer began to walk from one room to another: the house was over the top, too luxurious, too big and too _cold_.

As he walked into the penthouse, he became more and more irritated in his realization that in this huge house he had till now, only seen Asami's bedroom.  
_"Damn sex fiend!"_ he cursed.  
Akihito sat in the video room and turned on the huge television, looking for a music channel.

He set the volume low and stretched out on the sofa.

"_It would not be difficult to get used to a life like this,_" he thought.  
Sleep was beginning to lie heavy again on his eyelids: the few hours of sleep he had had last night were not enough. The previous day had been horrible, and Akihito was trying with all his strength to not think about Hikaru, about the fact that he was Asami's lover for years, about his _adoption_, about his ring and about when he would come back...  
The telephone rang.  
Once. Two. Then the answering service played.  
"I'm obviously not here. Talk after the beep." the peremptory voice of Asami sounded in the empty house. "_What a laconic message! Just Asami's style._" Akihito thought with a smile.  
After the "beep", he heard the voice of a woman. The photographer seemed to recognize the voice of a lady he had often met at Sion.  
"Good morning, Asami-sama. Matsunaga Rumi here. Sorry, I thought you were at home. Updates about the receiving: the printer has called to know exactly how many other invitations they have to print. I will hold them off for now. If we cannot trace Hikaru-san, maybe we should postpone the party for his official presentation and reprint the invitations. In addition, you have not confirmed what kind of flowers you prefer as decoration for the banquet hall. Let me know, please. If you want them to come directly from Holland, I must inform the trader in advance. I will be in the office at Sion until noon, and then I'll go and inspect the work at Shinjuku. Have a good day, Sir."  
"A wedding receiving, Asami, right?" Akihito whispered, while his eyes were blurred by tears.  
_Could he endure this reality? Really?_

***

In the end, the sun had not completely surrendered but had compromised to survive, the haze condensing into low and transparent clouds. The sun is shining and it is raining, too. FeiLong looked at the sea, laid out, with his back to the doorpost of the terrace of his bedroom, smoking his long ivory pipe.  
This would have been a sight to watch along with Hikaru.  
The strange and beautiful boy would probably have elaborated on his own appreciation of the sight he was witnessing, in some belief that the light of sunset was wonderful. Only to go on and state that the beauty of sunshine entwined with rain is an even more beautiful occurrence. Then perhaps he would speak of the feelings such a scene can create within people.

An emotion. One of the things for which it was worthwhile to be alive.

You must be really stupid, or mad, to have such strange thoughts...  
You must be really stupid or crazy to miss, terribly, someone who has these kinds of thoughts.

The Chinese man turned his gaze, for a moment, inside the room. The housekeeper was finishing preparing his luggage, although within a few days he will be forced to return for the receiving. The bed was still unmade. Gritting his teeth he turned his eyes away from it and returned to look outside.

_When Asami left, FeiLong opened the envelope that the Yakuza gave to him.  
And he understood. _

_He understood that Hikaru was bonded more to Asami, in this world, than he could ever be to him. He was his son, his heir and, thinking back to what the boy said to him in the past few days, Hikaru was also his lover.  
When FeiLong and Hikaru met, in that same room, shortly after Asami's leaving, there was no need to say anything.  
The boy had seen Asami from the terrace. _

_Hikaru had looked at him. The tears that blurred his eyes, while he tried to fight them back, __increase__d the golden flakes in his pupils.  
He looked at the wonderful man in front of him and understood that Asami had not come here for him, but for FeiLong...  
Hikaru had approached him, had unbuttoned, with his long and tapering fingers, the first frog of the other's cheongsam and had caressed the scar on his chest.  
"Ryuichi is involved with this, right?"  
FeiLong nodded.  
The boy suddenly felt cold._

_Asami was the person who had forced FeiLong to build a wall of loneliness around himself for years. He did not know what he had done, but he knew very well what he was able to do: use you, hurt you, tear up your soul and then leave you to collect __shards__ that were as sharp as blades. And despite this, you cannot continue to do anything but reply to his call. _

_FeiLong surely wanted to disconnect himself from Asami... whilst, trying to put together the pieces of the mess that was his life, he needed to return back to Asami. _

_Opposite needs._

_Hikaru bowed his head: this was a goodbye. _

_The last tribute that FeiLong had to pay for his freedom from the past, and another of the many tributes that Hikaru would still have to pay due to his captivity.  
The Chinese man took, in his hands, the delicate face of the boy who was looking with an unbearable sadness in his eyes, and kissed him... again and again.  
How could you desire someone so much, only to voluntarily allow that person to move away from you?  
And then all became hands, and skin, and sadness, and taste, and sex, and sadness, and smell, and lips, and pleasure ... and sadness: a man who has seen and experienced too many things, and a boy who has seen almost nothing, one inside the other, an hungry lovemaking, in that strange spring day in which the sun could not defeat the rain.  
Words are useless; both knew that they had already lived what the Fate had written for them.  
Their ways were splitting._

_  
_FeiLong shook his head to remove from his mind the images of their last night together, and long hair moved as black silk ribbons were caught by the wind.  
Those images remained in his eyes, as pics that marked moments of happiness. Because this is how life diddles you, sowing inside you an image when you are too distracted, or too happy. You'll discover it later, when it is too late and you're already a thousand miles away from that moment.

***

**_"Selling boys and heroin are the activities that best suit my nature._**

**_I was born to make people cry. _**

**_Revenge, anger, envy are not for me. _**

**_Hate, cold and pure hate, is the feeling that marks me. _**

**_In my flight to Tokyo, after five years of exile, I feel a bit of exaltation. _**

_**Asami Ryuichi, before I kill you, I'll take away everyone you care for. Again."**_

**_***to be continued***_**


	15. Roses and blood

Luxury, pomp, power.  
Everything in the huge room exuded opulence and wealth.  
Akihito, sitting at one of the more secluded tables, was asking himself, once again, what the hell he was doing there, dressed in sartorial suit that cost as much as months of his work, amongst people which, if they had known who he really was, surely wouldn't even give him a second look… or maybe would ask him to take them something to drink or to go and place their coats in the cloakroom.  
He sighed, his gaze wandering across the large room lit by huge chandeliers, drops of pure crystal reflecting the light in a kaleidoscope of colors and replying to infinity in the huge mirrors that hung on the walls.  
Among the crowds of men in evening dress and women bejewelled to excess, Akihito eyes finally met the slender silohuette of Hikaru next to the sleek and powerful one of Asami.

Was it his impression, or did their twin rings shine more than anything else in the room?  
Hikaru smiled. He was giving his charming smile to every one throughout the evening, while Asami, the proud father, or the proud _husband_, as almost everyone there suspected, introduced his heir to politicians, entrepreneurs, foreign diplomats, nobles of ancient lineage or the latest generation of Yakuza.

And Hikaru smiled, and replied with a gentle voice or with a veiled but shrewd joke, depending on the occurrence… calling Asami "father" and feigning a perfect feeling with him.  
False, false and liar!  
Since he returned, a week ago, relations between him and Asami were always tense like a violin's string.  
Akihito had never seen Asami lose his self-controlled behaviour, but in recent days he had lost it several times.  
There were two possibilities: the boy who returned from his five-day _holiday_ was no more the same boy that burst into the photographer's house with the intent to warn him to stay away from Asami, or Hikaru was much more cunning than he thought…  
Yes, because repentant and submissive behavior would not impress the Yakuza man so much, whereas the polite but cold behavior Hikaru was exhibiting and the veil of sadness that he had in his eyes involved Asami very much.  
Thinking back to the day of his return, Akihito felt that terrible sense of unease, again.

…

_In the recent days Akihito had lived practically in Asami's penthouse. He had the impression, in fact, that Asami worried for his safety, so that even when he was working, the photograper had at least a couple of bodyguards to escort him.  
The arrangement certainly did not displease him: the insecurity in which he lived in recent times, because of Hikaru, was waning mostly thanks to the conquered _everyday life_ with the Yakuza.  
On that morning Akihito was __squatting__ in Asami's big bed, carelessly wrapped in the light eiderdown. Asami had just gone to take a shower after the usual morning _sex session_, while the photographer listened to the rain fall, in that bliss that usually follows sex, especially if it is with the man you love from the bottom of your heart.  
"Finished?"  
When he heard the __unknown_ _voice, Akihito jumped to sit on the bed, trying to cover himself the best he possibly could with the eiderdown.  
Hikaru was standing in front of him and eyed him up and down with his ice eyes. _

_The boy's hair and clothes were wet, but they didn't drip: this meant that he had walked in the rain to the penthouse, but he had not just arrived: he had been standing there a long time.  
Akihito swallowed, blushing... He heard them... he remained there and listened to them make love.  
"Ho... how long were you here?"  
"Enough to __to feel sick__ … but, you know… I did not want to disturb your _performance_. And anyway, with all your loud gasps and __whinings__, I would have heard you a few blocks away…" the other replied, tone flat, walking into the room, bypassing the bed and heading towards the __chest of drawers__.  
Akihito, absolutely embarrassed, turned his gaze to the bathroom door a moment: the noise of the shower was confused with the rain.  
"Oh, he will not be out from here so soon… as always, he takes a long time under the shower…" Hikaru said with a __shrug of his shoulders__, opening the first tray.  
Akihito lowered his gaze… it was really painful to realise, through a simple sentence, how many things Hikaru knew about Asami, even the most intimate ones. O__n the other hand, he__ had been his lover, between a betrayal and another, for nearly five years.  
"… he can also spend his whole life there, he can't wash his soul…"  
Akihito frowned… what is this strange way of speaking?  
It seemed that Hikaru felt a sort of resentment for Asami… while the photographer perfectly remembered that last time he saw the adoring eyes of his "rival" looking for approval and __acknowledgement__ from the older man.  
"Please go and stop r__ummaging__ inside there…" the photographer said, losing his patience in seeing the too much confidential behaviour of the boy.  
Hikaru turned his head and looked at him. He was not irritated, not __resentful__, or, of course, friendly, he was… indifferent, yes… totally indifferent.  
"__Look who's here!__ The prodigal son…" the __stentorian__ voice of Asami made Akihito jump.  
"My apartment keys…" Hikaru said, simply.  
Asami sat on the armchair and overlapped his legs, while his carelessly tied bathrobe, slipping on the skin still wet, began to slide down revealing everything …  
The Yakuza took a cigarette from the mahogany box on the low table next to the armchair and lit it, tilting his head to look at the newly arrived boy with an amused air.  
Akihito was disturbed by the "naturalness" of the scene… A semi-naked Asami was talking with Hikaru, both of them thinking that this situation was _normal_. _

_In addition, the photographer felt excluded, ignored by the two of them. He __tightened__ the sheets with such force that his nails almost injured his hand through the cloth.  
"Are you so sure that you still have a house in which to return, Hika-chan? It could also be that I do not want you around here anymore. .. "Asami continued with a __half- joking__ tone.  
"I'm not so lucky…." Replied the boy, with an unstressed voice.  
Asami narrowed his eyes, __menacingly__, and rose from the armchair leaving the cigarette consuming itself in the ashtray. _

_It was not Hikaru's behavior that disturbed him, the kid had always been __galling__. But in their frequent "clashes" there had always been a light of rebellion and challenge in the eyes of the boy which amused and excited the older man. Now those eyes reflected only sadness and disappointment.  
"Get out of here. Soon Suoh will come and take you home," the Yakuza said, harshly._

_Obviously, failing to understand Hikaru's behaviour irritated him very much, especially because he was certain that _someone_ had contributed to this change in him._

...

Back to the present, Akihito sighed again. With his refusal to give explanations on where he had been and with who he was with in those days, Hikaru was attracting Asami's interest beyond what was bearable for the photographer.  
Wanting to be honest, Hikaru had given and repeated an answer to the question about what he had done in those days, but Akihito doubted that Asami could be satisfied with "_A taste of Heaven_" as reply.  
"I want to go away from here!" the photographer said, perhaps not exactly said as low as he wanted.  
"I second you…" a well-known voice behind him said.  
Akihito turned and smiled.

FeiLong!  
The Chinese man seated himself, a glass of champagne held in his hand.  
As usual he was stunning in his silk cheongsam of a deep red, as petals of a black baccarat rose, and like them its color was fading from red to black and plum.

The long strands of his unruly raven hair mingled with the dark color of the clothes.  
"It is not what it seems, this is business…" FeiLong said, noting the suffering in the eyes of the young man while his gaze roamed between Asami and Hikaru.  
Akihito smiled. FeiLong was probably right. He had understood that the purposes of this celebration were many and all with very little romance. First of all, Asami wanted to introduce the next leader of the family and heir to business partners but also to his opponents. Second, this could help to defend Hikaru, making it clear that if anything happened to him, it would not remain unpunished. Third, to make clear that Asami Ryuichi had a designated heir, thereby discouraging anyone in his own organization to make a bid for power, and showing to his "colleagues" at the head of other groups, that there was a solid succession. Fourth, the icing on the cake, but this Akihito could not know, even if in the underworld everyone knew, Asami's heir was none other than the natural son of the last exponent of his most relentless opponents, a sign for his enemies that the Suzuki group was not only destroyed, but also "incorporated": the winner took it all.  
There was also a deep and melancholic reason for that "union", which was not celebrated in the receiving. It was celebrated in an oath taken five years earlier, on a full moon night, to a dying woman, and sealed with her blood: "Love him, protect him, defend him....."  
And this, neither Akihito nor anyone else could know.  
The only thing that Akihito knew was that, unlike what he stated, it was not so easy to endure that reality… it was not easy to watch Hikaru at Asami's side, knowing what there was between them. It was not easy to see another boy in the middle of the hall with the man he loved, it was not easy to see with how much naturalness Asami guided the boy here and there across the guests, laying his hand on the small of Hikaru's back…  
"This is really annoying..." Akihito heard FeiLong's voice make this statement and turned to watch him. The photographer almost had the impression that this phrase did not refer to his situation, but was something personal for FeiLong.

The Chinese man was absent-mindedly rubbing the flûte's stem, the champagne now reduced to a few drops of gold liquid that slid along the chalice, with his eyes focused elsewhere.

Intrigued, the photographer followed his gaze, only to find himself watching the _indicted_ pair again: for a moment he had the disturbing thought that FeiLong was watching Asami.  
In that precise moment, absently, Asami's hand slipped from Hikaru's waist to his hip, then, slowly tracing his body it rose back to the small of the boy back. Akihito, irritated, diverted his gaze, and brought it back to FeiLong. He was very surprised, however, to note for a moment a dark shadow of anger blurring the beautiful features of the Chinese man: it seemed that FeiLong was feeling the same sentiments, but Akihito could not explain how this could be possible.

***

The man followed his target with his gaze. Finally he was moving alone.  
He hated to work in the midst of all those people: it was not in his _style_.

His normal procedure had always been: shadowing, detection of the habits of the target, identification of the optimal point and one single shot with a precision rifle from long distances.

End of the story.  
But this time the Merchant had decided to overdo. Killing him was not enough.  
The man thought that his respect for Suzuki-san was fading.  
Suzuki, the _Merchant,_ had always been a man cut out to hate, operating on a pure and cold hatred that allowed him to conquer anything, but were Asami is concerned, he is liable to experience a small measure of _passion._

According to what the man thought, the Merchant had become _whimsical __and angry_.

The hate, cold and shiny, had disappeared. Now that his target was close, Suzuki was unable to be distant from him.  
The Merchant had made his first mistake five years earlier, and that had cost him his entire family.

Then he came to his senses again, and had organized that very lucrative traffic of people, made important friends, bought people who lived into his target's circles … and now that the moment had come, the Merchant was wavering again.  
Asami Ryuichi definitely had a bad effect on the man.

With people like the Yakuza, you couldn't do the _aesthete_. Kill him as soon as possible was the only thing to do, because a second chance will not be granted.  
A shot, a vial of poison. Period.  
But no, the Merchant had to overdo!  
No more pure hatred, only passion, whims and anger.

Hoping that the result was not the same as five years earlier, when he had the real possibility to kill his enemy, and had instead lost his chance by killing the woman…

And Hell followed.

***

FeiLong began to hate that place… it was an almost physical uneasiness, especially now that Akihito was left with Asami and Hikaru was alone at his table, so close and so unapproachable.  
FeiLong needed to go outside and decided to reach the large terrace falling sheer into the sea: now that the courses were on the tables, he was almost certain that it would be deserted.  
He was happy, once he came outside, to have predicted right.  
The sight was breathtaking: the huge expanse of water drowsed under the light of the waning moon. The waves lapping were a slight lullaby and the warm and sweet breeze was caressing with its thousands hands made by nothing.  
FeiLong thought that Asami was even in cahoots with the gods, which had granted him, for his feast, this glimpse of summer …  
The Chinese man lay on the railing, in a secluded corner of the terrace, giving his back to the landscape.  
Ironically, the hall of the receiving was less than one mile from his house/headquarters, and so he knew that landscape very well: watching hurt.  
FeiLong closed his eyes while carelessly passing a hand throughout the length of his hair, stopping towards the tips to twirl them around his fingers.  
"Liu-sama…"  
It was the voice of a young man, sweet but with a rough scratch in the back.

FeiLong, for a moment, thought that it was part of the memories that he was trying to delete, but when he opened his eyes and saw, dark against the shining of crystal chandeliers of the hall, the silhouette of a lithe and slender body that approached, he realised that it was real.  
"Am I disturbing you?" the boy asked, stopping at a certain distance from the older man.  
"You should not be here, Asami-kun…" the Chinese man said, calling Hikaru with his new name.  
"I should not be here with you, here in this receiving, here on the face of the earth…?" Hikaru's voice seemed almost quiet, but his heart had started beating faster.  
FeiLong would have liked to be quite indifferent or disturbed to be certain that the other would go away soon: for the good of both of them. It was really useless to prolong the agony when the end was already written.  
He would have wanted…

But Hikaru approached and hugged him, and FeiLong found himself savouring his scent again, the warmth of his breath, the shape of his body, to hear the tumultuous beat of his heart against his. Oh gods how he missed this!  
"Hikaru don't behave like a child… this is useless: since we left nothing has changed for us…" he said, regaining his coolness and taking him by the shoulders to move him away "You should never turn when you leave, because turning is almost as bad as coming back. And we cannot come back. The best thing is to look ahead and forget. And that's what I'm doing… you should do the same thing.... " it was true that it was what he was doing, pitching into work, into useless journeying, into bleak one-night stands. It was also true, however, that he missed Hikaru, and that he felt something for him that he was not able to give a name to yet.  
"If you want to forget, and if this will make you happy, then I'll pray for you to forget even my name tomorrow morning…" - the boy said, bowing his head, evidently he felt the blow of FeiLong's words - "but… you cannot expect the same thing from me…"  
"Hikaru… there are no other solutions and the earlier you understand this the less you'll suffer…"  
"When I was a baby, I was afraid of the dark. The woman who raised me always told me that if I prayed to Him, an angel would come to keep me company, but I had absolutely not to open my eyes to see him, because when the angel came, he would smile and would be at my side, but only for one night. If I looked at him, he would leave the memory of only a night dream, but a nostalgia that would last forever. If I now try to forget you, I will suffer later, for fear of losing the sight of an angel's smile. I do not think I will do that… I do not want to forget you. This is not to say that I will oppose your decisions. But I realized something important in those days away from you, and so I still try to never forget ... my angel." his voice fading in a whisper.  
"Why?" FeiLong asked. It was not what he wanted to say, not what he had to say, but he found himself asking the boy why it was so difficult to forget him… so pathetic.  
Hikaru laid his lips on the older man's, parting them slightly. FeiLong took possessesion of his mouth, and held him in his arms. At the end of the kiss, Hikaru whispered with a cracked voice in the Chinese man's ear the answer to his question, and then turned, walking towards the hall.  
Picking up a tear that Hikaru had left on his cheek, FeiLong thought that those words, which he had craved for all his life, had been whispered by someone that _he would never meet again_.

***  
While Asami's hands roamed Akihito's body, caressing and teasing it through the evening dress, the photographer grasped the older man's jacket, arching towards him.  
The kiss was deep, wet and violent: Asami's tongue explored each millimetre of the boy's mouth, savouring the sweet and inviting taste.  
When they separated due to a lack of air, Akihito was panting.  
"Do you want me to die of suffocation?" the photographer asked with an annoyed air, challenging the amused and mischievous gaze of Asami.  
"Well, well… I definitely prefer this expression of fake disappointment then the hangdog look you've had throughout the evening. You know that it makes me want to hurt you…" he said, with a smile.  
"You are a pervert bastard!" the boy cried.  
"Ah-ah .. again with this old joke…… couldn't you find less hackneyed epithets, please?"  
"Don't think to ignore me for the entire evening and then bring me in this privèe to fuck me!"  
"I have no intention to do something like that, kitten…. I don't particularly love quickie, my Kawaii Akihito .. I'll wait patiently until the end of the receiving…"  
"I could also refuse…" the boy said, with an angry air.  
"Of course you could… if you manage to resist me…" the Yakuza added, with the usual grin that Akihito found terribly sexy.  
"Why did you avoid me throughout the evening? Didn't you want to displease Hikaru?" Akihito asked all of a sudden with a serious voice and a sad look.  
Asami lit a cigarette, and seated himself on an armchair.  
"Things are not so simple, Akihito…" he said, making mention with his hands to the photographer to sit too.  
"As you well know, I have many enemies, and the worst of them apparently is preparing to attack…"  
Akihito went pale.  
"This man will try to do harm not only to me, but also to any person I care for… he already did it five years ago," at this point Asami made a break, tightening his lips and turning his gaze from his interlocutor.  
Akihito understood that Himeko was still an open wound in Asami's heart, despite the fact that the Yakuza's face and his golden eyes did not transpire particular emotions.  
"Asami you don't have to…"  
"I have to, however. I have to warn you about the danger that you might run into if you are seen often at my side. But when I settle this thing, and this time definitely, everything will return to normal."  
Akihito shivered at the thought of how Asami intended to act out the words _definitely settle_.  
"This measure wouldn't work with Hikaru," the Yakuza continued, "because that man knows perfectly well what he is for me."  
The photographer lowered his gaze, passing a hand nervously amongst his hair.

Asami was in danger, and Hikaru and he too, as the old journalist said.  
"Are you scared?" the older man asked, rising and approaching him.  
Akihito nodded.  
"You do not have to be." Asami retorted, catching the photographer's lips.

***

Hikaru closed the door of the toilets behind him, one of the most distant from the Hall, to avoid meeting someone in it. Laying his hands on the cold marble washbasins, he fixed his gaze in his own eyes reflected in the large mirror.

Swollen eyes, reddened face… he could not return to the hall in that state… there was a pantomime to pursue, and he was one of the puppets on the stage… he had to return there and smile.  
He rinsed his face, and raising his face again to the mirror, he found he was no longer alone.  
He turned and smiled at the man behind him.  
"Oh good evening, you are the person who looks after the flower ornaments of the hall, if I remember correctly. I had not noticed that you entered. The mauve roses are so beautiful..."  
The man smiled nicely and approached the boy.  
"Yes, I've looked after all events organised by Asami-sama for several years… and I will also take care of the next one…"  
"The next? I did not know that Ryuichi had planned another one so early…" the boy thought loudly, fearing that this thing would involve him again.  
"Oh, but even he does not know yet…." said the man with a suave smile, laying his hand on the boy's left shoulder.  
Hikaru brought his gaze down onto the hand, but before he could ask why the man had exhibited this kind of confidential behaviour towards him, a fast gesture pushed the boy toward the wall making him bang his head.  
The blow was perfectly calibrated, the aim was not to kill him, but for him to lose his senses with a blow to the head that was compatible with a fall. Using a sleeping drug was not admissible. Those substances would be found in the blood _after._  
Marcel took the body in his arms, his face approaching Hikaru's.  
"Beautiful. Almost more beautiful than his mother….What a waste for a _flower _merchant….!" He said with lascivious eyes, before supporting the unconscious boy on the wall in a seated position.  
With a heavy marble soap case, he broke one of the mirrors. He had to do this as fast as possible because there were cameras everywhere in the building, except on the terrace overlooking the sea and in bathrooms, precisely. Soon the guards at the monitors would become suspicious of Hikaru spending such a long time in the bathroom and would sound the alarm.  
Marcel hated this kind of work. Hated to have any "physical" relationship with the victim, but the Merchant wanted it this way… _anger and whims_.

He wanted Asami dead, but wanted him to suffer first. Killing Hikaru would have been a manoeuvre suited for the purpose, but the Merchant was not satisfied with a "simple" death.  
Marcel took from his pocket, with his gloved hands, a message written on the paper tissue used during the receiving, and a pen, which he dropped to the ground after having impressed Hikaru's fingerprints on it.  
The Merchant had thought about everything. It was not difficult to find a sample of Hikaru's writing at the Music School, and to find a copyist that could imitate it to perfection.  
He laid the message within noticeble sight and then took one of the larger and sharper pieces of mirror.  
What can be more painful for a father, or a lover, or both in this case, than the suicide of a loved one accompanied by a message of that kind?

If Asami really loved the boy, the feelings of guilt would be deadly.  
He put the piece of glass by the boy's right hand, and grasping it between his, he made a deep incision on Hikaru's left wrist.  
The blood, warm and red, began to seep copiously from the wound. Marcel left the hand of the boy, and laid him on the ground.

These kind of jobs neither disgusted nor amused him. It was only work.  
Then, he entered the air conduct, closed the grate and headed towards the exit.

***

As he came back into the banquet hall at Asami's side, Akihito looked for FeiLong at the table where he had left him, but the Chinese man was no longer there.  
The Triad leader was at the bar, just outside of the banquet hall.  
He had seen Hikaru a few minutes earlier walking in the direction of a corridor that lead to a place he didn't know, but he had been undecided as to whether to follow him or not.  
He asked the barman for a glass of sparkling Italian wine. In his head a bad foreboding was making room amidst the swirl of other feelings that fought in his heart, but he could not identify this sense of disquiet. He took a small sip of sparkling wine, rolling the golden liquid on his tongue and palate.

FeiLong hated, with all his heart, this sense of indecisiveness between what was suggested by his reason, to let time erase Hikaru and his words just as the wind erases what is written in the sand, or what is suggested by his heart, namely to take that damned corridor to go and look for him.

With his mind lost in thought FeiLong took another sip of the sparkling liquid but his heart skipped a beat when, without a reason, the stem of the glass broke in two pieces in his hand and a little drop of his blood fell on the smooth surface of the bar.


	16. Tears in Heaven

Theose wonderful days, alike to summer time, were followed by two days of rain: subtle, persistent, and disheartening.  
The old lady approached the tomb of her deceased husband, preceded by the noise of her wooden clogs on the cobblestone, and protected by her big black umbrella.

She didn't dislike coming to the small cemetery behind the temple, even in rainy days, moreover because to bring flowers, incense sticks and to keep the tomb in order were, now, the only things she could do for her husband: a man that, when he was alive, had practically lived and done everything for her.  
Usually, she wasn't sad when she came here, perhaps only a little melancholic, but since the day before, when she arrived next to her husband's tombstone, she felt a lump in her throat.  
Beside _the tomb of the purple lilac_, as she called Himeko's tomb, there was now a new tombstone.

It was identical to Himeko's, the only difference being that it was made of white and not pink granite.  
The woman was sure that the same hand had prepared the last dwelling of those two people. That made her very sad, for the two who had left this world much too soon, and for the person who had accompanied them there for the last time.  
Under the insistent rain, the whiteness of white cyclamens on the new tomb stuck out next to the purple lilacs.  
"Cyclamen means _resignation and goodbye_......" the woman thought, approaching.  
Among all that whiteness, a beautiful blue iris shone under the drops of rain.  
The old lady would have wanted to read the tiny note accompanying it, but it was clearly written in a foreign language.

_"It looks to be Chinese... What do think about it, my dear husband?"._

***

With his hands in his pocket and the hood of the K-way lowered on his head, Akihito was standing in front of Club Sion. The photographer began to attract the curious gazes of people: he did not know how long he stood there standing stock-still under the rain.  
It was really strange to see all the lights turned off and the door of Club Sion closed, considering that it was about 23.00 hours on a Sunday.

The night club had been closed for two days.  
"Takaba-kun, are you alright?"  
Akihito heard a voice calling him and turned his face towards it.  
Beside him there was a very beautiful woman, around 40 years old, who smiled slightly, keeping him out of the rain with her little umbrella which absolutely _matched_ the plum color of her raincoat and her suede boots.  
"You'll catch a cold staying here, under the rain. Will you come with me into that little coffee bar? I'll offer you something warm to drink..." she whispered, maternally.  
Akihito nodded. The woman was a very close collaborator of Asami's. The photographer had seen her several times at Sion.

"My name is Rumi Matsunaga, very pleased to meet you," she said, lengthening her hand through the table of that lovely coffee bar. Akihito was not very experienced with these Western customs, so he shook it slightly remaining with the doubt that perhaps he should have kissed it...

Rumi smiled, guessing what had embarrassed the boy.  
"I know, between men, this kind of problem does not arise, but in greeting a woman, especially if she is an old lady like me, it can end up in embarrassment!"  
"Matsunaga-san, where is Asami?" Akihito asked after a moment of silence.  
"That is why you were there, under the rain for so long? I was warned by phone from the vigilantes about a suspect man standing at the door of the Club. It is your fault I had to go out under this horrible rain so late in the evening..." she said, still smiling slightly, while ordering Akihito and herself two steaming cups of coffee and two chocolate muffins.  
Akihito nodded. Since the evening of that damned receiving he had not seen Asami, nor had any news from him.  
When he ran after Asami at the terrible news sent by Kirishima and entered that bathroom a few minutes after him, beyond the horrible sight that he had seen, as well as the unbearable smell of blood, what had terrified him most was Asami's gaze.  
A dark shadow had fallen on his eyes, erasing their bright golden color.  
Akihito would have preferred to see him scream, get angry, tear everything to pieces, or, maybe, cry... everything but that unnatural calm and collected behaviour that he had seen, everything but the efficiency in giving orders, everything but "estrangement".  
Then Asami ordered his men to remove him from the scene, and he was taken to his house.  
"Are you concerned about him? Me too..." said the woman, sipping her coffee.

Rumi paused, as if she was deliberating whether to tell what she had on her mind or not... but then continued "When Himeko's _accident _happened, he had the same attitude, but in that case, there was a responsible someone to "pursue", someone to punish, and this "someone" suffered his "scientific" fury. Now I think the biggest problem is that he cannot blame anyone except..." she lowered her gaze onto the coffee cup, "...the sense of guilt is a feeling that is totally alien to him. I do not know how he can manage it..."  
"But then it is true that Hikaru committed...?" Akihito did not dare to say that word, it was too hurtful.  
"Yes, although it was officially called an "accident", as for Himeko's... but Miwa-kun, that is, Asami-kun has left a message that seems to be unequivocal..." she concluded, with a sigh.

She had never been able to stand the boy, but to her great surprise, this tragic story filled her heart with a huge sadness. Probably, like everyone else, including her, in this world full of loneliness, Hikaru was just a kid who was looking for love in every way.  
Akihito felt tears sting his eyes. He could understand Hikaru's suffering, though he would never have shared the gesture, but......  
Hikaru had to have been desperate and perhaps all this was also his fault, perhaps he went between something that ... maybe..

"Thank you Matsunaga-san for providing Takaba-kun with your company," the voice of Kirishima behind them made Rumi and Akihito tremble in surprise, "but Asami-sama has requested the presence of Takaba-kun, and so we ask of your apology for the interruption, Miss..."

***

**_"Oh thank you very much, dear lady... it is a real tragedy! I am very sorry to leave you so early, but the news you gave me was very upsetting. Good evening and thank you again... you're always so kind...."_**

"Marcel you're a natural born actor ... then, don't make me wait, what said the gentle lady of the cemetery?"

"The lady said that unfortunately she has not attended the funeral because access to the cemetery was denied during the said ceremony, but no one from that day has been to visit the tomb, but you know, she has never seen anyone visiting Himeko's tomb during all these years, so... The flowers were delivered by us every day, as usual. Above all, our "friend" that was assigned to infiltrate Sion said that since the day of the accident,_ the Club has been closed and he has not seen Asami there all this time. Even our man who controls his penthouse says that he has not returned home..."_

"Oh, dear... My heart is in tears for him! Despite his black soul, it seems that Asami really cares about his little whore... Of course, a real unexpected wedding night for him..."

"Yet you have an unhappy air, what's the problem Merchant? Is it pity for your implacable enemy or guilt for your son?"

"Do not be trivial Marcel, and I've informed you several times that you have to use the polite form when talking with me! What disappointed me it is that I could not verify myself how much Asami is suffering. Predators not only like to kill, but mostly they like to experience the smell of blood..."

"Uhm..."

"Consumed inside and burned outside by the eternal and inexorable claws of an incurable thought_. Is this the way you see me, Marcel? ... But I see you perplexed... you never ever read Melville? Moby Dick? _

**_Useless question, I see.... Anyway, you cannot understand me, but he can..."_**

"You mean Asami?"

"Exactly.... me and him, we bear a likeness. Oh, I know that you are accustomed to seeing us in the role of the "Villains", but this "story" we are living is not a common one: here no one is playing the role of "the Good"... Asami and I, we are as two lips of the same wound. Like me, he is also not the result of a tragic past. We were already **lost_ when life brought us to book. It's just that we do not know our souls, or never had the will to experience them ... they _are like those orphans whose mothers die unwedded bearing them: the secret of their paternity lies in their grave, and we must go there to learn it._ ...... Sorry ... I forgot that you do not know Moby Dick ..."_**

"I will fill up this gap. What is left to do, Suzuki-sama?"

"The old woman you had cheated so well at the cemetery had said something new about the boy with dyed hair that she saw around Himeko's tomb some weeks ago?"

"No, she has longer seen him... Do you think that it has something to do with Asami?"

"A young and pretty boy? No, how you can think that a young and pretty boy could have some relation with Asami! Idiot. However, try to find more information about him. If he is the newest little friend_ of Asami, we will also take this consolation from my dear Ryuichi...!"_

"But I am sorry to use that unaware old lady...."

"Coming from a murderer, this is something terribly funny, Marcel!" 

***

"Akihito... I asked you to not leave your house until I said so. Is it a thing so difficult to do?"  
The photographer was standing in front of Asami, who looked at him with an angry air.  
Kirishima and Suoh had made him exit from the coffee bar directly into the underground car park of the building, and then accompanied him to FeiLong's headquarters, in an anonymous car.  
"I was worried for you. After what... happened to Hikaru, you did not contact me, and I wanted to know how you were...... if you...."  
"You should be more concerned about yourself than about me..."  
"Darn! Stop telling me what I can do and not do, what I should feel and not feel," the photographer felt the anger grow, "I felt bad for you, I wanted to stay at your side, and you have preferred to come here to FeiLong. Why do you always leave me behind? I am not stupid, I can keep up with the two of you!" Tears of anger began blurring his view, and Akihito lowered his head.  
Asami sighed "Come here..." he said.  
Akihito came near him and Asami messed up his hair.  
"Akihito, you do not understand... you are in danger, and there is nothing you can do but try to avoid exposing yourself to any risk. If Iwas you, I would be very happy not keeping up with me and FeiLong. Indeed, if there was any god willing to listen to someone like me, I'd pray to him to prevent you from ever becoming like us..."  
The boy lifted his head to the older man. Asami's gaze softened a little. Akihito sniffled.  
"I assure you that you do not want to be like me and FeiLong. What we have seen in our life will always remain in our eyes and what we have done will remain forever in our hands. However there is a reason why I am here. Come, I'll let you know it."

***

The night had just faded away, and the rain had turned into a thunderstorm. The lightning was the only thing that illuminated the horizon of that sad dawn, because a dark blanket of heavy clouds prevented the sun from being viewed. All around the air trembled, while from afar the Monday morning traffic began to be heard. Despite the almost winter-time weather, it was spring and the flowers had just blossomed, challenging the cutting wind.  
FeiLong was standing outside, on the balcony of his bedroom, unmindful of the rain, after a night spent looking for an oblivion bearer's sleep.

This situation had lasted for three nights now... the Chinese man beginning to hate that room and that damned landscape.  
It was as if he had spent years looking at the world from that balcony... thanks to that strange spring climate that was so variable, like viewing the landscape through all the seasons. Hikaru had taught him to also see the snow in summer, so...  
FeiLong looked at his hands. Despite washing them several times, it seemed that the smell of blood would not go away... just as the memory of the evening of receiving wouldn't disappear.  
Hikaru's face, so sad though his lips were curved into a slight smile, the beat of his heart against his own, his words... his eyes pleading that single word from him as reply... words that, of course, he had not given to him. If only he had not let him go... if only he had reached him immediately.

...

_After the stem of the glass broke in his hands without reason, FeiLong, driven by that strange feeling of unease, had decided to reach Hikaru.  
The corridor that the boy had taken led to various small meeting rooms, but the doors were closed. Having reached the end of the corridor, he found himself standing in front of the door of one of the luxurious toilets of the Hotel...  
A few meters from it FeiLong felt his hands freezing.  
He could recognize it, even from that distance, he was perfectly able to recognize the sickly sweet scent of blood...  
His hand broke the glass protection of the alarm before entering the room, but he almost felt himself to be moving in slow motion, while his mind fought the two opposing desires to see the scene as late as possible with knowledge of what he was almost certain to find there, opposed to arriving as soon as possible to aid him.  
When he was on the door and saw what was inside, in an instant the cold departed from his hands and passed to his entire person. That was not fear, or horror: however because he had played with blood and death since he was a boy. It was only.... pain.  
Now his heart and his mind acted at two different speeds... while the first felt the grip of the cold tightening his chest, the second acted almost automatically to do what was required in these cases.  
He ripped a rag from his cheongsam and tied it, like a tourniquet, above Hikaru's left elbow, to stop the loss of blood, while, with another piece of his dress, he bandaged the scar. He unfastened the boy's clothes and lifted his legs to facilitate the flow of blood toward vital organs and then he tried to make him come back to his senses.  
Hikaru slowly opened his eyes, and turned his gaze towards him, but FeiLong was not sure that he acknowledged him. The boy was clearly in shock and the beats of his heart were slow and barely audible. He was dying.  
"Hikaru, do you hear me? You must stay awake."  
"Uhm .... W...what? Liu-sama...?"  
"Yes, it's me. Do not talk. Stay calm, everything will be fine. Try to stay awake."  
"I... If I clo-se my... eyes..."  
"Do not talk, I said. Try to breathe slowly..." FeiLong repeated, while brushing his hair.  
"If ... if I'll close my eyes... hold my hand, so... .. so.. I can.. underst-and that you... you'll don't __leave my side..."  
"Ok, but do not close your eyes... the rescuers will arrive immediately," the older man said, taking his right hand, and mentally cursing the rescuers that were late.  
"Liu-sama...it is a p .. pity that I ca-n not see you again." _

And he closed his eyes...

_  
...._

_  
_The incessant rain was falling, gluing his long wet hair and soaked silk trousers to his body.  
_One of the biggest advantages of rain is that it disguises crying._  
Hikaru had crossed, as a shooting star, the sin and the pain of coming into the world and leaving it. But he had not yet disappeared, remaining suspended even though his light was becoming increasingly dim.

....

_Asami had arrived simultaneously with the rescuers. As soon as his gaze was laid on Hikaru, FeiLong observed his eyes turn from gold to a dark brown, almost black. FeiLong understood perfectly well that Asami had just locked up any sentiment in some far-away part of his heart, preventing them from hindering his actions.  
He lowered himself next to the boy and laid an ear on his chest. The heart still beat and his breaths were almost imperceptible.  
"You will not die," he said. It was not hope, it was a statement, or an order.  
Himeko didn't listen to his order, Hikaru would have done. Because Himeko was fragile, while he had _trained_ Hikaru to fight.  
"FeiLong, I will give orders to bring Hikaru to your Headquarters along with my trusted doctors. Take care of him there," obviously Asami had not asked permission, of course this time it mattered not to FeiLong.  
At that moment Akihito had entered the room, eyes widened by surprise and pain. Asami ordered Yoh to take him to his small apartment and not to leave him alone, not for a second, until further orders.  
The last thing that FeiLong had seen in that room, whilst accompanying the stretcher outside, was Asami reading the message left by Hikaru and saying, between his teeth, with a grimace. "It's false". _

_Then, before the Chinese man exited the room, the Yakuza turned back to him.  
"Remember FeiLong, Hikaru _is dead_..."_

_..._

FeiLong returned to his bedroom, pulled off his wet trousers and took a quick shower.

He was planning to personally check on Hikaru's health when the sound of knocks at the door took him by surprise. Every time someone went to look for him or the telephone rang, he was always afraid that it was bad news.  
Without waiting for permission to enter, the door opened, showing the imposing figure of Asami, who entered and locked the door behind him. In another time FeiLong would have used calm but biting words to scold him for his "master" behaviour in his house, but now he was sincerely not interested in such trivial things.  
"You know why I asked you to keep Hikaru here, right?" Asami asked, sitting on one of the armchairs in the room and lighting a cigarette.  
"Because you believe that what has happened to Asami-kun is a simulation of suicide and, given the extreme accuracy with which you have prepared the surveillance and security of the ceremony, you suspect that there is a spy in your organization who helped your foe..." the Chinese man said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

FeiLong, in that moment, was really not interested in this conversation, but he was sure that Asami went there for a precise purpose.  
"Exactly, but this "someone" cannot be close to me, otherwise they would have known more about Akihito's existence, and the intruder would have attacked him, too..." Asami continued, blowing a puff of smoke from his curled lips.  
"And you came here only to tell me that?" FeiLong asked, tone flat, impatient to know what the hell Asami really wanted from him, to have it quickly so he could reach Hikaru sooner.

"No, I came here to ask you why you are so sure that it was not a suicide, even when Kirishima looked at me with doubtful eyes and with an almost compassionate air when I shared my suspicions and ordered him to organize a fake funeral..." the older man said, looking straight into FeiLong's eyes, as if he would read the answer directly there.

The Chinese man narrowed his eyes, waiting...  
Asami took a sheet from his pocket and then gave it to the younger man. It was a photocopy of the goodbye message Hikaru was supposed to have left to Asami.  
"Have you already read it?" he asked, taking another drag of smoke.  
"No... but I sketchily know its content."  
"Read it aloud, please, and then tell me what's in this letter that makes you say, with so much confidence, as you did in those days, that it is false ..."  
"Asami, is not the case of losing time with th--"  
"Could you read it, please?" The tone was falsely kind.  
The room was dark, so FeiLong put the sheet in favor of the dim light that came from outside, and began to read.  
_"Dear Ryuichi, my beloved of one million years ago...  
I have loved you, beyond what I believed was possible to love. I left you to erase my previous life only to be with you. And I knew that it was not for me, I knew that I was not the person in whom you were interested, that I was nobody, only a fuzzy reflection of someone else. For you I was a faded copy of my mother.  
But I accepted it.  
When "need" is stronger than happiness, you can accept all... And I did not claim to be happy, no.. I... I only wanted to be safe......only this. __You were my only opportunity to be rescued.  
In your life there was always someone, and someone else... and someone else ...  
But it was ok, it was enough for me. I was content with the crumbs...  
And then... then you decided, again, without my consent, you decided that from lover I had to become your son. You have decided, without asking me, because me, what I am, and what I think were things that never interested you.  
So I would have let all those years disappear, and became memory... but the only thing I want is slipping on the other side of life: I had never noticed this until tonight, in this receiving, up to this stupid pantomime...  
I have never really existed for you, I was the shadow of someone else, or someone to use for your pleasure, or to make you feel good... to erase your guilt. Do you understand how I feel?  
If you understand, then you can believe me when I tell you that I cannot think about the future... it is an idea that is so far from me ... something with no importance... my life cannot exist beyond this night, and this is where it ends.  
But nothing, nothing can prevent myself from remembering when I was your Hikaru...  
I desperately love you. Goodbye."  
_FeiLong closed his eyes. The letter was painful, because the words that were written on it, were words very similar to those he had heard directly from Hikaru's lips... in that house... on the beach he could see from the windows.  
But it was _before_...

_Before_ the two of them, _before _the desperate embrace that was consumed in that very room the day that they had to be separated... _before _the word that Hikaru had whispered in his ear on the receiving halls terrace. The message was false, because Hikaru could perhaps say what the letter reported, but he surely would not commit suicide because Asami did not want him, and he would not have concluded the letter with an _I love you, that _kind of love_, _for Asami.

"I'm waiting for a reply." Asami pressed his interlocutor.  
FeiLong looked straight into his eyes. The situation had lasted too long.  
"And I have no problem in saying it to y--" At that moment the phone rang.  
The two men looked each at other for a second and then FeiLong took the receiver.

Akihito almost could not believe in what he was seeing, but he was happy. Beyond the glass door of the room that was used as an infirmary, Hikaru, pale and slightly slimmed, was feebly smiling at the doctor who was cautiously asking some routine questions.

He woke up, finally.  
The photographer was soon reached by Asami and FeiLong, but they were all prevented from entering the room.  
Akihito turned his gaze on the Yakuza. As usual his expression was apparently indecipherable, but his eyes and that almost tender smile, well concealed, but obvious to Akihito, made him understand that Asami was really happy. Akihito was happy for him, but now what would happen? How would Hikaru's insane gesture affect his relationship with Asami? These questions wafted in the mind of the young man, but the most important thing now was that Hikaru was alive.  
FeiLong looked upon Hikaru's awakening as alike to a miracle. He sipped every gesture of the pianist, a beat of his eyelashes, a movement of his lips, his forehead frowning in response to a question from the doctor, his twinkling eyes, the dark shadow beneath them, a small flap of delicate skin that came out from below the white sleeve, the bandage on his left wrist. He was alive. Alive!  
"So tell me what's your name?" asked the doctor.  
"Miwa Hikaru, sensei."  
'Well, and where were you born?"  
"In Tokyo on June the 24th, 1986."  
"Exactly."  
"Now look out of the door. Do you see that tall gentleman with a cigarette in his mouth? What's his name?"  
Hikaru looked in the direction of the glass door and saw Asami. Then his gaze moved from him to Akihito and then lingered for a moment on FeiLong. Hikaru turned his head back to the doctor and smiled.  
"I'm sorry sensei, I don't know who they are, not one of them."

**to be continued**


	17. Drops of memory

**Disclaimer: Not Worksafe**!

"Dissociative amnesia?" Asami frowned at the doctor's words.

...

_That very morning, after visiting Hikaru, Dr. Kawabata went out of the infirmary to speak with Asami, and informed him that it was not yet the case for him to meet the boy. _

_Kawabata spoke in a calm and gentle voice, but with __a definite tone__, looking at Asami from under grizzled thick eyebrows, and tilting his head slightly to the left, as was his habit.  
Asami pointed out, not so kindly, to the doctor that the only thing he wanted from Hikaru was a single name, or the description of the bastard who tried to kill him, and then he would give the boy all the time needed to rest and heal.  
At that point the doctor had announced that it would be useless to talk to the boy about that topic: he didn't have any memory of that man._

Hikaru seemed to remember everything until the death of his adoptive parents, at that time he was about 17 years old: after that period, while realizing that he was 22 years old now, he could not recall anything about his life until his awakening that morning.

He had awareness of his practical skills: for example, he had all the musical knowledge gained in recent years at the High School of Music, but he didn't have any memories of his private life, of the people he'd met in the last five years etc.  
The doctor kindly asked Akihito and FeiLong to leave him and Asami alone, because he could not talk about the conditions of his patient in front of people who are not members of Hikaru's family.  
Akihito nodded and turned to leave. He moved a few steps and then realized that FeiLong hesitated. The Triad leader was looking beyond the glass-door with an indecipherable expression.  
Hikaru accidentally moved his head on the pillow, toward the door, and their eyes met: at that time FeiLong had the exact perception that Hikaru really didn't recognize him, and he felt as if someone had ripped pages they had shared from the book of his life, one whole chapter obliterated.

He swallowed.

The long haired man's eyes probably betrayed his emotions, because Akihito noticed it and approached, laying his hand on the older man's forearm, in a comfort gesture. FeiLong didn't turn toward the photographer, eyes fixed on the other boy.

Then Hikaru smiled at him.

He narrowed tired eyes, and moved the fingers of his right hand to greet, and smile at him. FeiLong found himself returning that smile and..... and he felt the weight on his heart lightening.

Hikaru was alive. Alive.

And he was smiling.

FeiLong greeted him with a nod of his head and the boy closed his eyes, smiling.

Without saying a single word, the Triad leader greeted and thanked the doctor, and followed Akihito.  
Not even a single frame of that scene had escaped from Asami's eyes, but the Yakuza turned his attention to the doctor as if nothing had happened.  
"What the hell does dissociative amnesia mean?" He said, lighting a cigarette.  
The doctor made a clear grimace of disapproval at the Yakuza's gesture, but then he answered.

"Dissociative amnesia is one of a group of conditions called _dissociative disorders_. It is not the same as simple amnesia, which involves a loss of information from the memory, usually as the result of disease or injury. With dissociative amnesia, the memories still exist, but are deeply buried within the person's mind and cannot be recalled. However, often the memories will resurface on their own or after being triggered by something in the person's surroundings."  
"Then sensei, you're saying that Hikaru hasn't the faintest idea who I am ...." Asami thought aloud, narrowing his eyes.  
"Exactly." Dr. Kawabata said, and seemed to Asami to capture an amused light in his eyes.

The Yakuza had known Dr Kawabata for a lot of years; he was his father's trustworthy doctor, even on the occasions when it was necessary to act without question. On the other hand, the doctor knew the great Asami Ryuichi well, since he was a brat, and had easily guessed that the fact that Hikaru didn't remember him, was annoying the Yakuza very much…  
"Do you find this thing so amusing, Sensei?" Asami's voice had dangerously lowered the tone.  
"Yes, I do, Ryuichi…" he retorted, with a grin, "you tend to invade people's lives, to insinuate in every thought, in every cell, so that whether they love or they hate you, it is difficult to be free after having met you. This is your power, isn't it? Well, in this precise moment you have no power over that boy, and I find this so very funny." The man said, with a smile.  
Asami gave the doctor his trademark grin. This man had even treated his father as an equal, and it was his recklessness, or his courage, which he always liked, since he was a child.  
"Be careful, sensei…." He said with a half-joking tone.  
"Thanks for worrying about my health..." the doctor returned, but then his tone changed. "Returning to serious matters, I must underline that dissociative amnesia has been linked to overwhelming stress, which might be the result of the traumatic events that Hikaru has experienced or witnessed, **_not necessarily the recent ones_**." The doctor stressed the last words, "I hope you understand what I mean... Anyway, usually the memory returns after some time. If this does not happen, we will have to refer to specialist aid …"  
Asami nodded, but his thoughts were already moving in other directions.

Now that Hikaru's life was out of danger, he should concentrate on his most urgent problem: being able to find that bastard Suzuki without the help of the boy's memories.

And then he had to have a talk with FeiLong as soon as the situation was settled.

"It was not..."  
"What?" Akihito turned towards FeiLong.  
The Triad leader walked along the shore, in a cheongsam made of turquoise shot silk, which illuminated, with metallic reflection, his long raven hair. Akihito walked beside him, wound in a jacket of light nabuk: when he arrived at FeiLong's headquarters, the night before, he had realised that Kirishima had a bag with some of his clothes in the boot of the car. Even if he hadn't decided to go to Sion, if he hadn't met Rumi Matsunaga or not, Asami had previously ordered Kirishima to take him there. By his own initiative and without asking, of course.  
"It was not an attempt of suicide." FeiLong explained.

He continued to walk a few steps ahead of Akihito, and turned his head a moment to see the photographer's expression.  
FeiLong smiled at seeing a timid smile of relief cancelling the invisible but tangible veil of guilt from the the boy's face.  
"You don't say this only to make me feel better, right?" Asked Akihito, lengthening his stride to surpass the older man. Then he turned to walk backwards in order to look straight in the other's eyes.  
"No, this is the truth Akihito."  
All of a sudden Akihito stopped, looking down.  
He swallowed.  
"So… it was attempted murder? During the party, in a place so much monitored and protected …" The boy raised his eyes again towards FeiLong, who had stopped in front of him.  
The Chinese man nodded.  
Now Akihito understood the sense of holding the fake funeral, of Asami's worrying and everything else.  
Asami's foe had to have spies very close to them. In Asami's organization.

He shuddered ….  
"You're safe here..." FeiLong said, with a reassuring voice, supporting one hand of the boy's.

"The only ones who know where you are, besides me and Asami, are Kirishima, Suoh and Yoh… I think we can trust them…" the older man concluded, smiling and making Akihito smile too.

They walked side by side for another few minutes, then the Chinese man decided that for him it was time to go back, and directed his gaze back towards that house, poised on the edge of land, motionless a few metres away from the wild sea.

The ocean had howled all night, eating a big part of the beach and laid above it things gathered everywhere: broken shells, tiny twigs smoothed by water, big trunks with their leaves still doggedly attacked, against all expectations, against all hopes, by their small stems that had defeated the sea.  
Akihito remained some steps behind FeiLong.  
Both seemed to need those ten minutes of solitude away from the house.  
The Chinese man switched his gaze from the house to the sea storm, and again to the house. That villa, which he possessed for only a short time, was full of memories.  
Memories that until a few days before were a bridge that linked him and Hikaru forever. Even if he would have done everything possible to forget, even if he had asked Hikaru to do the same.  
Once the old Xiangyun said to Tao that we have to be careful in making wishes, in case they come true. Xiangyun was always right.  
Now Hikaru had forgotten.  
It was the best thing, after all. It was what the Chinese man asked him to do, wasn't it?

_"It's better this way,"_ he'd said to him.

To someone who had just asked to be loved, he had replied _"The best thing you can do is to forget me"_.

Was it the best thing? Or was it the most cowardly? Did this still matter now that the pianist had really forgotten?  
Hikaru had forgotten his difficult relationship with Asami, and the Yakuza would surely find a way to turn the situation to his advantage: Hikaru and Akihito would no longer interfere in each-other's lives and both of them would contribute to Asami's satisfaction in the exact role that he had decided to give them.

The Chinese man, as planned, could return to Hong Kong, staying as far away as possible from Asami as he tried to forget the beautiful boy with the strange golden eyes.

Hikaru wouldn't suffer anymore for him, because now the boy didn't know who Liu FeiLong was: he did not remember him, did not remember about when, although for a little time, he was completely and absolutely his. He did not remember the pain of their separation and did not remember the words whispered to him on that balcony.  
And when, and whether, his memory came back; everything would be so far from him to have any importance anyway.  
It seemed that everything was going to be exactly how it had to be.....  
The wind was taking the grains of sand with it. FeiLong narrowed his lid to shield his eyes from the annoying grains.

It is strange that sand entering my eyes seems similar to my soul being relentlessly scratched..." he thought.

Following FeiLong a few steps away, Akihito found himself thinking that, because of Asami, he was again catapulted into a situation over which he had no control.  
His life was slipping away from his hands again, and there was nothing he could do to grasp it.

The impossibility of moving away from that house unnerved him, the unknown threat to which he was exposed disconcerted him: someone wanted to kill him… someone who did not know anything about him, and had nothing personal against him.

How much hatred could lead a hand to make it capable to do what they had done to Hikaru?

How much poisonous hatred could lead a man to kill an innocent boy, only to cause Asami suffering?

And the man that he was now despising so much, was he really so different from the Yakuza?  
Akihito shuddered.

The revenge brought to completion by Asami with "scientific" fury, as Miss Matsunaga said, had generated this hatred, or perhaps it was the hatred that had the revenge, a hatred that would continue to feed itself up to the extreme consequences?  
Asami was right: Akihito did not want to become like the Yakuza and FeiLong… but every time he realized that, a lancinating fear that this would separate him from Asami, sooner or later, stabbed the photographer's heart.  
Entering the house, Akihito resolutely directed his feet to the room occupied by Asami: he had decided that, if someone wanted to make an attempt to his life, he had all the right to know WHO he was and how long he would have to submit to that forced captivity.  
He knocked at the door of the room and at the dry "Enter!" as reply; he lowered the handle and entered.  
Asami had his back to the boy, wearing only the pants of his suit. The belt, the shirt, the tie and the jacket lay on the hallstand. The gun in its holster looked impressive hanging on the backrest of a chair. The Yakuza was putting some documents in an overnight bag of dark leather, along with some personal effects.  
"Are you leaving…?" Asked the photographer, hesitantly.  
"What's the matter? Can you not live without me….?" The Yakuza asked, raising an eyebrow and giving the boy an elusive look.  
Akihito got angry. Asami never took him seriously. Asami never ever took him seriously.  
He shook his head. The problem was that the older man was right. He could not do without him.

It was enough to realise that Asami was about to leave him behind again, and all his warlike intentions to obtain explanations and to claim to be aware about what was expected from him in the near future, were sent to hell.  
Even before the boy could realize it, he felt himself raised from the ground and found himself lying on the big bed; Asami's face so close to his that he was wrapped by his musk scent joined with the expensive tobacco of his cigarettes.  
"You're very sweet making an admission of this kind…" said the Yakuza, with a mischievous grin.  
"What? What admission??? You're a fool... "Akihito retorted, trying to release his wrists, wrists that Asami was firmly holding on the mattress.  
"You've just admitted that you cannot do without me… so sweet a thought needs the right reward…"  
"I haven't do any admission ... ahhh ... Asami…… stop it! Do you hear me? Sto… A..sa.."  
Asami suppressed the protests, the little unconvincing protests, catching Akihito's mouth in a deep kiss, aching and almost ferocious. Akihito's mind swooned.  
The slam of a shutter took him back to reality: they parted, panting.  
"Did you say something?" Asami enquired, with a smile that slightly softened a predatory gaze. As his hands unbuttoned Akihito's shirt, the Yakuza teased, with light touches, the slightly sweat-soaked skin of the boy.

Akihito closed his eyes and failed to retain a moan when the older man came down from his lips to taste the silky skin of his neck, just below his left ear.  
"You are a tasty and salty dish..." the Yakuza whispered with a breath in the delicate shell of the boy's ear, passing the tip of a deft tongue along full lips. Akihito tasted of salt and sea breeze.

The photographer shivered, Asami's voice: low, rough and warmed by lust had the power to erase all thoughts and to stir his groin in response. But the torture had just begun.  
Asami went down on his body drawing maddening paths with his tongue and lips on the photographer's chest, whilst hands came down to the younger man's navel, lingering around it, and a little lower... to unfasten the photographer's pants.  
Akihito flinched in anticipation and closed his eyes a little, breath accelerating and waited... moments... ages.

Asami's mouth reached slender fingers before moving on to gently brush the flat and soft belly of the photographer, and passing over them, venturing lower... lower.... and then stopping.  
Akihito groaned in frustration raising his head to watch what Asami was doing, and fixed his eyes, fevered by desire, in the older man golden one's, which shone in a flash of triumph.  
"Thank you very much my kawaii Akihito for your admission," he said in mocking, while Akihito, defeated, lowered his head on the bed cursing between his teeth.

"Bastard…"  
With the trademark grin painted on his face, Asami finally bent over the boy's tensed member, skimming over the head with his opened lips, then down along his length with the skilled caresses of a hot tongue. The shivers, as a lash, whipped the entire body of the young man who clenched his teeth and groaned without even noticing.

The older man rose, tongue skirting along the other's cock, before surrounding the tip with his lips. And then, all of a sudden, he stopped and lifted his head…. for moments… ages.  
"As… As...a..mi...." But the words that escaped from Akihito's lips were almost inarticulate sounds, broken by groans. Suddenly Asami completely enveloped the boy's erect cock with his moist mouth, titillating the head with the tip of his tongue.

An almost suffering moan escaped from Akihito's throat when Asami increased the pace of the movements, forcing him to arch his back, a moan that turned into a cry. The boy knew he was going to reach an orgasm in seconds.  
Asami stopped.

He rose and parted from the smaller body.

Two hazelnut eyes looked at him, lost and begging. Asami's face approached Akihito's "....but if you say that you have not made any admission, maybe I should stop to thank you....." the Yakuza said, with an amused and almost cruel smile.  
"Damned bastard!!! Ok, I can't do without you, are you happy now!!!!" Akihito yelled, between his teeth, in a voice full of frustration…  
"Exactly…" replied the other, very slowly, sliding his hand toward Akihito's groin.

Hikaru was sitting on a wicker sofa covered by large satin pillows of plum color, under the patio of the villa, a book lying in his lap. He stared at the beach in front of him.  
White sand as far as the eye could see, in a fresh afternoon blessed by a bracing wind that blew from the west. Hikaru closed his eyes. Four days had elapsed since he'd "awakened". With a life torn in two to deal with.  
There was the past. Far and immutable.  
Far and immutable because it was populated by unattainable shadows.

Anyone who had been part of that past was dead, like his beloved adoptive parents, or separated from him for years, so that today he was not a part of their lives, and they couldn't help him to patch up the pieces of his memory.

And there was the future. At the same time real and artificial.

Between them, the void.  
This feeling of "lacking" was ambivalent… it was like walking on a high ledge. The lack of memories was dizzying, and akin to the fear of falling, without the safety net of the past which could save you, other times it was a sensation of shocking freedom, without the chains of the past which could tie you.  
In both cases, an underground sensation of loneliness never left him, because the only people he could trust now were perfect strangers to him.  
He was distracted from his thoughts by an exclamation of disappointment coming from the beach.  
The boy lifted his gaze and, amused, laid it on Akihito who was busy participating in a sand castle contest against a boy named Tao, a kid that Liu-sama had brought with him returning from Hong Kong.  
Tao was winning, and his child eyes shone with satisfaction: Akihito's castle had just now miserably collapsed. Hikaru laughed at the expression of sincere sorrow on the photographer's face.

That boy was so sunny and always nice to him in the last shadowy days**.**  
The wind carried toward him, in gusts, the impetuous noise of the undertow, mixed with Tao's childish laughter, along with the even more childish complaints of Akihito and, less distant, a hushed laugh, and the sound of a voice soft and warm. Velvet.  
The pianist shifted his gaze on FeiLong, standing on the rung of the ladder that led to the beach.  
_Liu-sama…_  
Hikaru recalled very well Dr. Kawabata's expression when he asked if, even if his mind had forgotten, it was possible that his body would "remember" instead. The doctor had shaken his head and smiled. "They are just your impressions, my boy," he said.  
_Only impressions…._  
But when he looked Liu-sama, his body recalled.  
And while the sun was melting into the sea, giving up the last warmth of the day, Hikaru remained to stare at the shadow that, against the light of the sunset, went down from the Chinese man's left ear, ran onto the graceful neck, left uncovered by the hair collected on the other side, then moved back slightly along the shoulder, and finally dove down to his arm reaching the elbow, to disappear among the folds of his linen shirt, caught by the wind.  
Hikaru closed his eyes, because his lips could feel the warmth which that skin would have returned under the slight pressure of a kiss. It was so real.  
And this was not imagination, this was a memory.  
A memory that was not in his head, but on his lips.  
The only flashes of the past that had disappeared from his mind could be felt on his body.

And all of them were linked to Liu FeiLong.

On the first floor of the villa, in his room which faced the beach, FeiLong was intently reading the latest reports coming from Hong Kong. Contrary to what he had designed, Wang was there in place of him and he was here in Japan. Fortunately, it seemed that things were relatively quiet in China.  
Now it was late afternoon and from outside he heard the noise of the sea as a continuous waterfall, or as an incessant thunder of an infinite storm. It did not know rest.  
In another room of that house, Hikaru, with his knees bent to his chest and arms surrounding them, was lying on one side, with the sheets resting up by his head.  
The boy thought that the noise of the sea, in the darkness, becomes a wall of sound.  
The pianist brought his hands to his ears, trying to concentrate in order to collect a strip of memories that were lost somewhere in that darkness, but instead he felt like a bubble of void burst in his head. A pain almost physical.  
With a snap, he threw off the blankets and sat up on the bed.  
"Darn backwash!" he screamed, covering his ears with his hands.  
But he knew that it was not the sea's fault. He knew that it was his head that did not want to remember.  
The boy brushed the back of his fingers on his lip, on his neck.

There was _something_ in him, however, that recalled.

_Yes… green tea and cinnamon… it was the smell of his hair. _  
Hikaru smiled, and sank even further into that mass of black silken strands.  
FeiLong pupils were the only thing that moved to follow the boy reactions.

_"Can I touch you?" Hikaru asked, when he opened the door, and FeiLong did not know if he was taken aback by the question itself or by the innocent eyes with which it was formulated.  
He let the boy come in, and Hikaru sat directly on his bed.  
The Triad leaders thought that the pianist had a hidden purpose, but looking at him, he realised that it was not the case. Hikaru moved at ease in that room and had chosen to sit on the bed not for malice, but because he knew that room, that bed, even if he did not recall it.  
"I believe that… _something_ in me remembers you…" he explained, when FeiLong sat next to him.  
"Something?"  
Hikaru nodded "When I try to remember, with my head, I feel like _disappearing,_ leaving myself.... and all my forces are overtaken to prevent my eyes from opening to _watch _the darkness. I… can't explain... I..." He lowered his head, his hands slightly trembling.  
FeiLong bent toward him and laid a light kiss on the younger man's temple "It's all ok." he whispered…  
"You see ... I remember this.." he said, brushing, with his finger, the spot where the other man just kissed him "… and, if I don't remember the words that you said, I also remember the sound of your voice. I mean...I do not remember the kisses, but the feeling that I felt taking them: I know that they were your lips even if I cannot "remember" you kissing me._ _Sorry ...when I feel sleepy I say a lot of nonsense." _

_FeiLong smiled "I know ..." he said.  
_…  
"Your skin smells of amber... amber with a bitter touch on the bottom, just as I remembered…" Hikaru whispered, his lips almost brushing the lobe of the older man.  
FeiLong, half lying on his bed, closed his eyes and restricted himself from smiling, his right arm bent, with one hand placed on the small of Hikaru's back, and the left one lazily lounging on the mattress.  
Long legs, hugged by black silk pyjamas, were outstretched and feet overlapped.  
"And I remember…" the boy whispered, rubbing, parted lips against the scar on the Chinese man's chest "this slight roughness under my lips…" he added, further caressing FeiLong's neck and chin, before finally laying parted lips on the older man's ones.  
FeiLong slipped his hand, upward, along the boy's back, and then laid it on his nape, nestling him.  
Their slightly opened lips met, then moved away for a moment and then met again, another brief detachment, and they joined again, and again...  
"This is not going a little too far from your initial intention…?" FeiLong asked, blowing the words on Hikaru lips…  
"Oh... sorry... If you don't want... if... I could leave..."

"Don't dare!" replied the other, catching the boys lips in a sealing kiss.

FeiLong cupped Hikaru's face with both hands and then slid them along the thin neck and under his shirt, caressing warm and smooth skin, so as to feel that body. The hands then rose to the boy's shoulders, brushed his neck again, got lost amongst his hair, and then came back to rest on Hikaru's lips.

The Chinese man could still not believe that he was once again seeing the slight blushing of arousal on those cheeks that he had seen discoloring in the pallor of death. To see sunshine sparkling in eyes that he had seen slowly lose their light. To feel again the warmth of that body which he had held tight in his arms, cold as marble, on the edge of farewell.

Hikaru opened his eyes, smiling.

"My body remembers…. Remembers only you… "He said, laying his palms on FeiLong's naked chest, pushing him gently to lie down "Close your eyes..." He told him, and the long haired man obeyed with a mischievous smile.  
Hikaru gently leaned his lips on the other's lids and eyelashes, kissing them softly, before kissing the centre of his chest. The boy seemed to hear the beats of FeiLong's heart, slightly accelerating through his lips.  
"Hikaru…" the older man called him and when he heard long and tapering fingers slide down his trousers he lifted his head from the pillows.  
"Sssssst ... I'm trying to remember ... Close your eyes..." The boy repeated, with a lustful glance, laying his lips on the now freed cock of FeiLong. The Chinese man moaned at the contact of his burning flesh with the fresh lips of the boy.  
Hikaru let the older man's penis slightly open his mouth, entering between his lips and then he caressed it with his tongue, while his saliva fell down along his skin.

"Hikaru...." a velvet voice called him.

Hikaru's touch was feather light as he kissed the tip of the other's man's erection, before raising his head, to face two obsidian eyes burning with lust.  
"Come here," said the Chinese man, and his velvet voice had become low and hoarse.  
The boy swallowed. The sound of that voice was enough to make Hikaru shiver in arousal.  
He obeyed, laying his lips on those of the older man. The kiss became immediately deep, wet and violent: Feilong's tongue in his mouth began to dance, while his hand fell along his back, to help rid him of his pants, and then rose along his round ass: one finger was laid on his opening, forcing it gently open.  
Hikaru's body arched toward FeiLong's and a groan between pain and pleasure escaped from the boy's lips while the older man's fingers began to move inside him.  
Then FeiLong grasped Hikaru's side and raised him, and slipped between the young man's legs.

Hikaru slid onto his cock, as his length was wrapped, slowly, in a tight and delightful warmth.

The boy cried out, back arching and closing his eyes as he took in FeiLong till their pelvises met.  
Despite his mind being almost totally blurred with pleasure, Hikaru thought that there was nothing in this world that could erase this from him: FeiLong moving inside him, the man's hands on his face, his fingers in his mouth, the pleasure in the older man's eyes, his back that lifted him, the velvet of his voice…. Nothing in this world... no more.

_****_


	18. The calm before the storm

**Chapter 18 ..:: The calm before the storm::..**

Asami, sitting on the backseat of the car, closed his eyes for a moment savouring the bitter and slightly anesthetic taste of the tobacco mixed up with the strong and bold taste of the Bourbon.

The Yakuza lowered his gaze on the hand that was bringing the empty glass down and noted a small dark spot on it. Wrinkling his nose, he rubbed on it with the finger of the other hand, trying to erase the stain.

Blood.

"Damn" he cursed between his teeth.

The disgusting smell of Harada's blood came back into his nostrils as if he was sniffing it that very moment, ruining the taste of tobacco and whiskey that still delighted his palate.

Asami put out the cigarette with a rush of disappointment.

"_There is nothing you can do about it, if you crack a stinkbug you can expect nothing but __stench."_  
But, at least, the information _kindly_ provided by that guy was beneficial.

...

_When the man came back to his senses, he batted his eyelids and shook his head. _

_At first he tried to move an arm, but not being able to do so, he squinted his eyes again and only then did he notice that he was seated on a chair, his ankles and his wrists tied by a wire.  
In front of him, there was a man, seated on the top of a small table, one leg bent and the other was firmly supported on the floor. A man with golden, chilly eyes. _

_Asami Ryuichi.  
At that moment, the tied man understood that he was _lost_.  
"How long have you worked for me, Harada?" Asami asked him, lighting a cigarette "Six years?"  
The warm and mellow voice of the Yakuza communicated, by contrast, a sharp cold.  
A cold that Harada felt rising from his legs and arms, that were quickly losing sensitivity because of the lack of blood circulation, until it tightened his chest in a grip of fear.  
All of a sudden, from the cone of shadow cast by the sole bulb in the middle of the room, a thin man came out; his face was hollow and his hair sparse, which was glued by a cheap hair gel, and the tied man could almost smell its rancid scent._

_ The thin man made his knife pass from one hand to another with impressive skill.  
With one fluid motion, the thin man stuck the knife into Harada's leg, and then pulled it out quickly. _

_A few drops of blood splashed around.  
Harada hardly suppressed a cry of pain, and felt the moist warmth of the blood running along his calf.  
"How much money did they give to you in exchange for my Hikaru's life? Tell me who you sent the information to and all of this pain will end soon…."_

_..._

Harada squealed and the pain ended. But not too soon.

It was not as painful as it could be. But it was slow... Very slow.  
Asami thought that the chain of blood of five years before was about to start again.  
Many things since then, however, had changed…

Himeko's death had sparked in him a meticulous and calculated fury. A fury without any hope. A fury with no other purpose, but the will to destroy.

The aim was revenge. The aim was to give relief to his own suffering. The aim was to forget his guilt by washing the faults of others in the blood.  
At that time, he no longer had anything or anyone.  
Now it was different.  
Now, he had people to protect. Now, he had people to fight for.  
Suddenly, Kirishima's voice distracted him from his thoughts. "Asami-sama, we have almost reached FeiLong's house."

A tenuous haze, with its silver shades, was rising from the ground.

The villa, laid on the border between the sea and the land, let the night paint its contours with its darkness. While during the day, the house dazzled the sight with the colours of its garden and the shining of its crystal greenhouse, at night, poised beside the roaring ocean, the villa had the diaphanous beauty that only the fragile and lost things could have had.  
That night the humidity was tangible, and a few seconds before the rain began to fall and slightly covered everything, it seemed that you could perceive its imminent arrival.  
Caught by the reflection of a tiny lamp, while his long tapering fingers played absent-mindedly with a wisp of his long hair, FeiLong stood near the window of his room listening to the sound of the rain that had just begun to fall. That sound penetrated deep inside you and could not pass unnoticed, despite the sea that was crying wildly.  
His gaze wandered into the darkness beyond the glass, but sometimes returned to spy on a reflection in the window. His face showed, in the shadows that appeared under his eyelashes and in the feverish sparkle of his eyes, the signs of what had just happened in that room.  
"Oh, gods," he thought, "this seems to be ... happiness."  
In the almost total darkness of that room, the Chinese man looked towards the bed where, under a light satin quilt, Hikaru was sleeping, unaware of his recent past and all its pain.

He was so beautiful.  
In the dark, FeiLong hugged the boy's naked body.

In the secret of that bed, under those blankets light as the feathers of which they were made, the Chinese man's fingers caressed for endless time that silky skin and his lips sought out, in the more hidden folds of the young body, the warm and intoxicating flavor that is Hikaru.

To be honest, nothing went the way he had planned …  
After years spent consuming himself with the desire that he had hidden under the guise of hatred just to be able to not kill his pride, FeiLong had thought that the only way to begin to live again was to quit any desire. Forgetting Asami. Forgetting everything. And then starting over.

And he almost managed to achieve his goals... but...  
However, life often revolts against you; you make your plans, and then life makes its own, and often they are not the same.  
And so the Fates had put in FeiLong's way this boy with golden flakes in his eyes.  
Thank God.  
Hikaru moved, while sleeping in his arms, whispering the Chinese man's name.  
FeiLong had realized that to start over he didn't have to quit desiring; there are desires that condemn you and desires that could save you, as Hikaru once said to him.

Now what he wanted was Hikaru, and he didn't know whether this was his conviction or his salvation.  
He only knew that he wouldn't have given up on him.

Sometimes, before the first rays of the Sun begin to lighten the horizon, the silver haze of the night turns itself into a blue mist. It only lasts for a few moments, and unfortunately, you can live an entire lifetime without having ever seen it.

The dawn was breaking, and the tiny drops of water that seemed to have risen from the ground were forming that impalpable blue veil.  
Akihito was sleeping.  
The light wisps of his hair were scattered untidily on the pillow, while the long eyelashes, moistened by sleep and caressed by the first light of the day, cast a tangled web on his cheeks.

Asami was sitting on the sill of the window in that same room, wrapped in a bathrobe carelessly tied. Smoking.

He wanted Akihito. Now. What he wanted was to wake him up and fuck him blind, until it hurt.

But he wouldn't do it.

He wouldn't do it, not yet, because he had to let the smell of death on his body disappear.

Because he felt aggravated at the idea that Akihito could smell that stench.  
And he felt aggravated at the idea that Akihito's reactions could bother him so much.  
For him, what other people thought about his behaviour never had any relevance.  
The same went for Himeko and Hikaru's opinions.  
He knew that they would always side with him, no matter what.  
Himeko was not made for the world in which she had to live, but in any case that _was her world_, she understood its rules, even if she didn't agree with them; it was probably only her capacity to understand the distorted and abominable rules that helped her to not succumb to the abuse she suffered.

As for Hikaru… he probably had that world _in his DNA_, moreover, he was Suzuki's son…  
But Akihito…

Akihito was pushed into this world and despite the fact that this world had tried to suck him into its dirt, the boy still came out _innocent and clean_.  
Tried, wounded, pushed to his breaking point and over. But _sane_.

And Asami wanted him to remain that way.  
The Yakuza crushed the butt of his cigarette on the sill of the window and glanced outside just in time to seize the last breath of life of the blue mist that, in a moment, disappeared.

_The rain is warm and heavy. It gives no relief from the summer's __sultriness__. _

_In the cemetery there are only black umbrellas, like ghosts' shadows, like __funereal __reflections of the thoughts of those present. But I am not crying.  
At the end of the ceremony, the few people that are present go away. _

_From the sky falls a rain without anger and without wind. _

_Every drop of water seems to illuminate a new shimmer in the mass of purple lilacs that drown the tombstone. On the stone only a name: Himeko.  
I look all around and at my left side there is Ryuichi-san. He watches the tomb and yet no emotion seems to alter the expression on his face.  
There is also a man next the tomb, who is dressing the flowers, but cannot understand who he is because the flowers prevent me from seeing his face._

My eyes are swollen with tears and my lips tremble. I turn away my eyes from the mirror on this vanity, and my gaze falls on the ring at my finger. I want to take it off… it scalds, it hurts.  
There is a man behind me, but I cannot see his face. It seems to me he is the same man who dresses the flowers on Himeko's tomb, but once again I cannot see his face.  
He grabs my shoulder and then I feel as if I am drowning in a sea of blood… blood that flows from my mouth, from my nose, from my eyes… Everything is red... warm, _sticky, sweetish red._

_..._

_"Liu-sama… it is a p- pity that I ca-n not see you again…"  
__"Liu-sam…"  
"Li ..."  
_"Liu Sama!" suddenly, Hikaru opened his eyes, jumping to sit on the bed.

A slight shudder shook his hands, while uncontrollable tears fell from his eyes, drawing a twinkling trace on his pale cheeks.  
"Hikaru?"  
The boy heard FeiLong's voice brushing lightly over his ears, while the older man's arms hugged him from behind.  
"I'm here, Hikaru… are you okay?" the Chinese man asked in a whisper, making the boy turn towards him.  
Hikaru nodded, while he buried his face into the other's hair.

_Green tea and cinnamon._  
"Was it a nightmare?" FeiLong asked, almost cradling him to calm him down.

"You don't need to cradle me... I'm not a whining brat...," the boy said in a sulky tone, while among FeiLong hairs.

"Of course you're not, and your behaviour demonstrates this." the Chinese said in mocking tone.  
"I hate you, are you aware of this? Anyway, I think it was not a nightmare, but a memory" the boy said, passing his arms around FeiLong's waist.  
The Triad leader narrowed his eyes.

The doctor said that it was necessary to be careful with these things. Anything could trigger a slight recall in Hikaru's head, a recall that, like a chain reaction, could lead to mend all the pieces of the puzzle that made up the lost memories of the boy.

But… but the people around him should be careful and not suggest or interpret the flashes of memory in place of the boy, otherwise this could create the so-called _false recall_.  
"Do you want to tell me what you dreamed, Hikaru…?" Asked the older man, continuing to caress the boy's back.  
"I... I believe that I have re-lived the funeral of my mother ... I mean, my real mother ...and then the evening when someone tried to kill me. It was not me who tried to, well you know... It was someone who attacked me to kill me. And… there was this man, the day of the funeral, as well as in the toilet room of the receiving hall. The same man... I am sure that I know that man... only… I cannot see his face... and I can't say who he is … I'm sorry… I'm so… useless!" the boy explained, lowering his gaze.  
"Useless? How dare you to disparage my little whiner brat…," FeiLong retorted in a feigned angry tone.  
The boy blushed and, laid his lips on the older man's, and he thought that even though they both came from different worlds and logically they would never ever have had the opportunity to meet, instead here they were together.  
But then why did he have this terrible feeling that this happiness would cost them dearly?

The sun now was high in the sky and colored with golden reflections in the clear wisp of Akihito's hair. After all the rainy days, that morning they had the pleasant surprise to find a calm sea and a clear sky, and although the temperature was not as warm as in the summer and the sand was still wet, everyone seemed to tacitly agree in pretending that it was still summer.  
The photographer, walking barefoot in the water, followed Tao with amused eyes; the child was committed in collecting shells that the wild sea, during the previous night, had generously left on the beach.

The young boy was really excited because Hikaru had promised him to make, with the shells, a real musical instrument that the wind would play only for him. So whenever he found a shell of the requested shape and size, he ran like hell to the pianist, who was sitting on the steps that led to the beach, to bring another piece of the _fairy instrument_.  
FeiLong, dealing with the reports that Wang punctually sent him by e-mail from Hong Kong, watched the scene with amusement.  
"Do you like what you see, FeiLong?" Asami's voice arrived to the Chinese man's ears as soon as a scent of sandalwood and tobacco reached his nose.  
"I'm learning to appreciate the serenity, when I meet it," said the younger man, turning his head toward the Yakuza.  
"The cruel ruler of Hong Kong has also delicate thoughts, then?"  
"Well, life is full of surprises. For example, I would never have thought that Asami Ryuichi could be so worried about someone else but himself," FeiLong retorted, with a grin.  
"And I thought that I would not have seen Liu FeiLong's smile again," the other said, strangely not in a mocking tone, while walking towards the railing.

Asami lowered his gaze on the beach and saw that Akihito was watching the sea through the LCD screen of the camera that FeiLong had procured for him, when all of a sudden a sea gull that had nosed-dive in the sea appeared in the frame.  
Click.  
The boy smiled with satisfaction… he was able to capture the exact moment when the bird was about to rise again, with his prey in his beak.  
Playing with the camera, Akihito absentmindedly turned the lens on the terrace and his eyes met Asami's golden gaze through the viewfinder.

The Yakuza was watching him.

For a moment the photographer lived again the moments of sweet and violent delight he consumed that very morning with the older man. Blushing, he thought that, beyond the small detail that he was virtually a prisoner in that golden cage because of a man who wanted to kill him, those were some of the happiest days he could remember.  
Lighting a cigarette, Asami turned back to the Triad leader.  
"It is not wise to get used to all of this, FeiLong…," He said with a flat voice.  
"Why? Have you discovered something that will help you to end the threat looming on the boys?" the other asked, interested.  
"Yes, indeed. And now this is my priority… but I was nor referring to this," Asami said, heading inside the house.  
"You owe me an answer, do you remember? And if I will not like it….....Well, you do know that I do not like someone to touch what is mine, don't you?" he added, turning his gaze on the younger men.  
"And do you remember that I am still _the cruel ruler of Hong Kong_...?" FeiLong said, with an absolutely not reassuring smile.  
"Good answer...." Asami retorted, with his trademark grin, and left the terrace.  
On the beach, almost euphoric, Akihito raised his arms up to feel a sense of accomplishment, in the illusion to touch the sky. In addition, in that moment a bird with big black wings flew from the sea to the house and went to perch on the terrace's railing.

Rumi Matsunaga sat at the counter of Club Sion's bar with an absent-minded expression.

She was concerned about Asami-sama.

Eight days had elapsed since Hikaru's death, and the Yakuza continued to come to Sion as less rarely as possible, and when he has here he kept his business meetings to a minimum and then he would disappear for days...

After that evening in the cafeteria, she had also lost any contact even with Takaba Akihito...  
The woman sighed and swallowed another sip of her Martini cocktail.

Drinking alcohol at 10:00 am was not her habit, but lately it had become a constant.  
"Madame Matsunaga, it is unusual to see you here at this time in the morning", a voice behind her, deep and with a particular tone, due to its foreign accent, made her turn.  
Behind her, with a flower arrangement made with purple orchids in his arms, there was a handsome man that gently smiled at her.

"Oh, Lorent-san, good morning," said the woman, slightly blushing, "Are you here to arrange the flowers for tonight's party?"  
"Yes, Madame... but please, would you be so kind to call me _Marcel_… we have known each other for five years now, and although I know that here in Japan you consider this a little rude, I hate to be so formal," the man said, placing the flowers on one of the nearby tables.  
"Marcel…," She repeated, and felt a certain uneasiness and yet, a certain pleasure caused from the feeling of confidence by being allowed to call him by his given name "It's ok..." she said.  
"I must confess, Madame Matsunaga…"  
"Rumi ... my name is Rumi…"  
"Oh, thank you... Rumi, I must confess that I didn't expect Club Sion to organize a social event so soon after the accident that occurred to poor Asami-kun… such a young and beautiful boy..." the man said, shaking his head, "but I am glad that Asami-sama is recovering from his mourning…"  
"If only this were the case, Marcel! Asami-sama will be not here... He is still deeply mourning. He comes here so rarely and prefers not to meet with people..."  
"I understand…," Marcel said, supporting his hand gently on top of the woman's, "during these sad circumstances every one of us would prefer to detach from work and devote ourself's to our loved ones that could share our pain."  
Rumi nodded, with a woeful face "Unfortunately, Asami-sama no longer has any living relatives... and now that he has lost even Hikaru…" the women sighed. Rumi would have liked to be closer to her boss, so that perhaps she could be of some comfort.  
"It must be terrible to be alone in certain circumstances," Marcel agreed, with a reassuring smile.  
"At least I hope that Takaba-kun's presence can help him," Rumi added.  
"_Takaba-kun_? Who is he?" asked the man, candidly, while his predator eyes lighted up with satisfaction behind the mask of his fake kindness.

*TBC*


	19. The boder line

**Chapter 19 .:: The border line ::..**

"I was wondering if you are going to tell me what you have discovered…?"  
FeiLong followed Asami inside the room, and sat on the sofa directly in front of the armchair taken by the Yakuza.  
Asami lifted his gaze to the Chinese man, inhaled the smoke from his cigarette, and then moved it away from his lips, bringing it between the forefinger and the middle finger of his right hand.

He narrowed his eyes, enjoying the taste of the smoke, and then slowly blew it out from his barely opened lips.

FeiLong settled down better on the couch, overlapping his long, muscular legs and putting in order, with unconscious grace, some little folds of his cheongsam.  
"Useful but not decisive information," said Asami finally, once again bringing the cigarette to his lips, without turning away his gaze from the younger man.  
"Well… and do you think you'd be able to explain in detail this '_useful but not decisive_ ' information to me, or do you prefer to continue to eye me up and down for the next hour?" FeiLong asked with a grin.  
The usual sly smile was drawn on the handsome face of the Yakuza. " You're beautiful, and you should know that I am a notorious aesthete, who sacrificed to the cult of beauty even his moral values."  
"A very little sacrifice then, given the extent of your moral values…," the Chinese man said, interrupting him.  
"Details ...," said Asami, shrugging his shoulders.

FeiLong smiled, amazed at not feeling any discomfort in this newfound _familiarity _with Asami.  
"The information we got will bear fruit within a short time, that is why I defined them 'not decisive'," Asami said, crushing the butt of the cigarette in the onyx ashtray.  
The change of atmosphere was so sudden that it took several seconds for FeiLong to focus on what he himself had brought into evidence at the beginning of the conversation. "Please, go on…," he said then.  
Asami rose from the chair and headed toward the French window.

He laid his arm on the doorframe.  
"The man we caught was not the one who tried to kill Hikaru… he was only a bug… he provided information to Suzuki weekly, but he has never met him. He does not know where he is, and he does not have the slightest idea about what the bastard's future plans were. Harada merely left an envelope with information into one of those lockers used for storage available to customers at a large shopping mall, " the Yakuza said, giving his back to FeiLong.  
"But from your tone of voice, I can say that it was not a complete waste of time," the younger man said, turning his head in the direction of Asami and closing his eyes to shelter them from the dazzling light that penetrated from the outside. Asami's silhouette was almost a faint black spot against the splendour of that April morning.  
"No, it wasn't… as I said, every week, the bastard delivered the envelope with the gathered information. Last time he had provided the plans of the hall where the reception was held. It is owned by one of my companies and he was able to find them…"  
"... and therefore it was not difficult for the killer to move inside the building… and presumably he reached the bathroom through the ventilation pipe, as suspected…," concluded FeiLong, lighting his long ivory pipe.

"Right… but the real problem is that the killer first had to find a way to enter the building, and none of the information that Harada sent him could help him with this problem. Which is why I am now certain that the person who tried to kill Hikaru, and fake the suicide, must be someone who had free access to the Hall," concluded Asami and turning to FeiLong.  
"So, what you are planning to do, is to orchestrate a trap… Suzuki does not know that one of his men was discovered and captured, and you intend to take advantage from the fact that this Harada guy does not ever contact Suzuky directly, and vice versa. Are you going to put the usual envelope with the false information in it into that locker at the Shopping Center, so that it will push that bastard into moving exactly as you wish?"  
"Exactly, FeiLong… happy to talk with someone to whom you do not have to explain everything …," Asami said, with the usual trademark grin.

"I suppose that is a compliment…," the Chinese man retorted, blowing a subtle breath of white smoke from his lips.  
Asami did not reply, but went to sit on the armrest of the sofa were FeiLong was seated.

"The problem is that the trap will take time… instead, if Hikaru could remember, all this could be arranged very quickly…" he said.  
"Even you did not remember who the man might be at the funeral of Asami-kun's mother," FeiLong said, raising his beautiful face toward the older man that was so near to him now.  
"Uhm… why am I not surprised that you know the content of Hikaru's dream, or memory?" Asami said, giving a sidelong look towards the Triad leader.  
"Nothing can surprise a man of the world like you, right?" replied the other, with an innocent air.  
The Yakuza glanced at him with a bothered look.  
"Hikaru's recall was not a conscious memory, but a dream, and like every dream it does not represent the true reality, but rather a re-interpretation of it. In the cemetery on the day of Himeko's funeral there was only me, Hikaru, Kirishima and Suoh… there was no other... and there was not the mass of purple lilacs that Hikaru has dreamed about, but only white orchids.

Evidently, Hikaru, in his dream, has mixed the memory of the funeral with the memory of another visit to his mother's tomb that he must have done later on, or even with the memory of his step-parent's funerals… or who knows what. The only thing that this dream/memory could confirm is that Hikaru knows the killer or that, otherwise, he has met him previously. For some reason the boy has linked the killer's face to the funeral, the tomb, the lilac …who knows?"  
"In short, Asami-kun's dream gave almost useless information, if we consider that you have an alternative plan that is less random," said the Chinese.  
Asami nodded. "Well, that is unless Hikaru can remember exactly who this bastard is... but I prefer to use much more practical and fast methods… I simply want to kill Suzuki as soon as possible," he added, with his voice flat.  
FeiLong breathed, between lips slightly opened, another thin puff of white smoke, slightly closing his eyes and caressing his lips with the mouthpiece of the pipe.  
"You are really so concerned about Akihito and Hikaru…," the Chinese man said, but it seemed to be more a thought than a consideration.  
"I'm simply tired of seeing people who surround me dying," said Asami, rising from the armrest of the couch and fishing from his pocket a silver cigarette box.  
"People you care for…," the other corrected him.  
"Care? Me? If I remember right, I'm supposed to have no use for people unless they either bring me money or they fulfil my carnal desires," Asami retorted, lighting a cigarette that was now poised between the full lips.  
"Touché," FeiLong said, following the man with his eyes, while he was leaving the room.  
The Yakuza stopped a few meters from the door and turned back towards the younger man.  
"About what can bring me money… this whole question about Suzuki should not make us lose good bargains. Tomorrow morning there will be a meeting that was scheduled some time ago, with important representatives of the Ministry of Trade. Will I have to expect the participation of Wang, or we will have the honor to have the presence of the Prince of Hong Kong?"  
"It will be a pleasure," FeiLong answered with a smug smile, to which echoed the famous and attractive grin of the Yakuza.

Marcel Lorent was lying comfortably on the sofa of his small apartment in Tokyo.

The man, officially, was only a supplier of flowers and plants for social events, which afforded a medium/high standard of living, of course, but with Tokyo's cost of living ..., this cover didn't displease him at all. He never loved pomp and luxury, and he has always considered himself a "normal" man with "normal" wishes and needs.  
Marcel Lorent was a killer.  
He knew that for the rest of the world this would not be considered so common, but for him it was a job, the most normal thing in the world.  
His father was a mercenary. With his group, he was paid by governments, or guerrillas or terrorists or intelligence to win, lose or unleash wars.  
Since he was a child, he had seen how little human life could be worth and thus, despite his work, in the night he could sleep very well and could look at his face in the mirror with no regret.

Perhaps because he had no illusion about what his own life could be worth.  
When he met the Merchant, he had been fascinated by that halo of pure hatred that pervades him.

A cold, calculated and sharp feeling. Marcel respected his coherence.  
Now the merchant had stained, with his unreasonable actions of recent times, the pureness of his hatred with _warm_ and unreasonable feelings: jealousy, revenge, passion and anger.  
Marcel had decided that, after the "Asami Ryuichi" issue was concluded, he would leave the Merchant; work for him was not fun anymore.  
Suzuki, in his eyes, was now a man like any other man.

What a pity.  
The man heard the phone ring and laid the book he was reading, Moby Dick, on the low coffee table in the living room.  
It was Club Sion informing him that there were a few small changes to be made concerning the arrangement of the tables and, consequently, about the flower arrangements.

Asami-sama had decided to be present at the party and had expressed specific requests.  
He put down the receiver and frowned.

Why does this small change in Asami's schedule make him feel so suspicious?

***  
Akihito opened his eyes, and a blade of light, red, like the color of the sun that was melting in the sea, hurt them.  
Closing them again suddenly, he lengthened his hand across the mattress and bed sheets to find Asami's body.

As usual, the bed next to him was empty.  
He jumped to sit up in bed, bothered.  
The light that filters through the window was obscured by the imposing figure of Asami.  
Akihito glanced at the older man with a disappointed look and he wanted to say something sharp and possibly ironic, but, as usual when it came to Asami, his original intentions were distracted by other thoughts.  
Asami was fixing the cuff-link on his left sleeve. His hair was still wet, which was falling unruly on his forehead and he was biting absent-mindedly on his lower lip.

The photographer could smell the sandalwood scent of his aftershave mixed with the natural warm smell of his skin.  
Akihito blushed.  
He loved him more than he could ever believe that was possible to love.

But he still didn't know anything about him. About what he thought. About what he felt.

And from these, other questions crowded in his head.

The photographer did not know anything about the danger that was threatening him; he knew almost nothing about the events that had generated this danger, and the little information he had was not given by Asami.  
Perhaps he wanted to protect him? Or maybe he thought that he was unable to understand.

Maybe Asami considered him a child, or a toy to be kept under a bell jar.  
A bitter smile appeared on the boy's face.  
The idyllic picture of that morning, when he almost felt that he was able to touch the sky with a finger because of happiness, had collapsed as soon as one little harassing thought had crept into his head.  
He wanted to ask a thousand questions to Asami, instead simply asked, "You're going to a party?"  
Asami turned towards him, buttoning up the immaculate shirt of his evening attire.  
"Yes, and everything will go according to my plan, we will get rid of Suzuki at the earliest, so you can go back to getting yourself into trouble all around town," he replied, with a mocking smile.  
"Are you going to kill him?" the boy shuddered to find that the affirmative response that he would have certainly received, wouldn't surprise him.

"Yes, I'll kill him," Asami said, looking into Akihito's eyes, "and with a lot of pleasure. This is the only way to eliminate the danger that is threatening you and Hikaru, and I will finally avenge Himeko," the Yakuza said, and his cold voice softened in pronouncing the woman's name.

Asami took a cigarette from the pack that was resting on the chest-of-drawers, and took it to his lips, then he turned his gaze beyond the windowpane. The night was coming down.

"Did you love her so much?" The words escaped from Akihito's mouth before his hands could reach the lips to stop them.  
Turning his head, Asami looked at him, narrowing his eyes.  
"Excuse me, I know that you think this is not my business ...," Akihito said, averting his gaze from the older man's.  
Asami sat astride on a chair, supporting his arms on its back.

He smoked in silence for a few minutes, looking at the boy in front of him.  
"I did ...," he said, his voice seeming to come from afar, "... she was a sister, but was also much more then that. She was the only _pure_ person I had ever known, _until now_. And if you want to know if we were lovers, just ask fot it...," he said, and then slowly ended his cigarette.  
Akihito did not say anything.

He remained seated on the bed, tightening the sheets around him, while Asami continued to smoke.  
The boy almost could not believe that Asami had spoken to him about her.

Sure, they were only a few words ... but he was certain that the older man had said all he thought was proper for Akihito to know. Proper towards Himeko's memory.  
The photographer was distracted from his thoughts by Asami's lips catching his in a devouring kiss.  
"When you look at me with those puppy dog eyes, you make me want to hurt you ... and this will also make me be late at Sion, so you need a double punishment ...," Asami said, unbuttoning the just buttoned shirt.

In the limousine on his way to Club Sion, Asami found himself thinking about Himeko.  
What he had told Akihito was the truth, and it was disturbing to realize how all she was could be summed up in so few words.  
_Himeko, his soul._  
Asami smiled softly thinking of her.

Himeko had always had a fragile body, since she was a child.

When she walked, it seemed that she was _slipping_ into the air. She spoke, or better still, she whispered with a sweet, light voice. _Silk_.  
But her soul... her soul was hard like a diamond, her soul shone.  
Once Himeko had told him that if he had provided her some of his strength, she would have provided him some of her soul.

She was afraid that the world they lived in, sooner or later, would have taken her beloved Ryu-chan away from her. Himeko simply wanted to save him from himself.

The funny thing is that his little princess, so fragile and so shy, managed several times to save his soul from sinking into an absolute darkness, but he, so strong and cunning, did not manage to save her life.

"Asami-sama?" The voice of a man, young and the deep, distracted the Yakuza from his thoughts.  
The young man with an ephebic appearance who was seated next to him, smiled nicely.

Asami approached his lips to the other's ear and whispered something.  
"As you wish, sir," he replied.

It was raining again.  
Probably the warm and mild weather of the just passed day was only a small parenthesis, an illusion, in a leg-pull.  
And maybe even the serenity of that day was only a trick of Fate, in that he wanted to show to them how life could be if they were someone else.  
FeiLong rose from the writing-desk of his bedroom and set out towards the terrace's door, letting down his long raven hair and sinking his tapered fingers into the soft braid that bound them.  
He shook his head and strands of black silky hair, bright and dark, thick and lively, spread a scent of cinnamon in the air.  
The Triad leader had examined all afternoon the documents relating to the meeting that was held the following morning with key representatives of the Ministry of Foreign Trade.  
The gains for Baishe and Asami, but also for the politicians in question, would be substantial, both in terms of money and in terms of profitable "relations". If the other party would not be attracted by the economic outlook, Asami had information on them that would lead them to accept their requests anyway.

To have Asami as partner was much more profitable than to have him as an enemy.

FeiLong turned his gaze to the window. The wind had risen and was mercilessly ripping the petals of flowers and the needles of pine trees off. The storm was approaching, and the surface of the ocean was tormented by dozens of lightning strikes that loaded the air with electricity.

The sea was twisting under the wind's whip, and with the sound of infinite thunder, it descended on the small beach to devour it.  
The wild sea. Its power, its vastness, its breath and its fragrance.

The Triad leader found that sight terribly exciting, and he felt the beats of his heart quickening.  
FeiLong, the palm of his hands laid on the window pane, bent his head backwards, slightly closing his eyes, to better savor that warm and intoxicating sensation that radiated from his loins.  
Desire.  
The long haired man turned his gaze toward the wall that divided his room from Hikaru's and bit his lip.  
A flash lit the room as if in daylight, and was followed a few seconds later with the deafening roar of thunder. The lights of the villa, and with them all the houses in the small bay as well, turned off.  
A mischievous smile appeared on the pretty face of the Chinese man while, in the dark, he directed himself towards the door of his room.  
A sudden sound of broken glass stopped FeiLong's steps. The noise came from the pianist's room.

"Hikaru?"  
The boy was standing in front of a mirror, or what was left of it. Next to him, a chair was overturned. Small splinters of glass reflected the light of the lightning that dove into the sea. Far away.  
"I must have struck the chair in the dark, and it fell on the mirror," the boy said.

He had his back to the door and to FeiLong.  
The long haired man made a step towards him. "Are you okay?"  
"I remembered ..."  
FeiLong stopped. The tone of Hikaru's voice had something _unfamiliar _in it.  
"Once, I did this often ... crushing the mirrors, I mean …, and breaking things, and ruining things I had just received as gift...," the boy added, without turning.  
"Hikaru ...?" FeiLong made another step towards him.

The pieces of glass crunched beneath the slippers. "If you remember something, you should discuss it with Asami."  
"Ryuichi-san is still here? I do not want to see him ... "  
FeiLong swallowed. There was no need for Hikaru to tell him what he precisely remembered.  
Since he had re-awakened, and he was told that Asami had adopted him, he had begun to call him "otousan" even if that seemed to annoy Asami very much.  
The mere fact that Hikaru had started again to call him "Ryuichi" make FeiLong understand that the boy remembered something about his real relationship with Asami.  
"Hikaru, listen...," the Chinese man tried to caress the younger man's arm, but he drew it away.  
"You don't ... you don't want me to touch you?" the older man whispered ... that gesture extremely hurt him.  
"If you really knew what kind of person I am, you would not like to touch me...," said the boy, dipping his eyes into the darkness outside of the window.  
"Hikaru, right now I know what kind person you are more than you do. Your flashes of memory can bring to misinterpr…."  
"I don't think so! Me, and Ryuichi ... the two of us ... you... you simply do not know ...," he said, interrupting FeiLong, his eyes always turned elsewhere.  
"If you mean that you were lovers, I ..."  
"_Lover_ is a too gentle a definition for people like me, perhaps you want to say whor..."  
FeiLong seized the boy's chin hard with his right hand, forcing him to turn his face towards him.  
"I don't give a damn about this nonsense... that was the past!"  
"But that Hikaru could not be me, I could not be that way..., once, once I was not that way, I was not that way...," Hikaru felt the tears prick his eyes, and he tried desperately to fight them back.  
"Hikaru, your memories stopped when you were 17. As every teenager does, you had so many dreams, hopes and illusions. What happened to you is what had happened to everyone. You found yourself in front of the reality and you have reacted to the events of the life the best that you could in order to protect yourself. I can assure you that even though life has not been so kind to you, the relationship you've had with Asami after your awakening, is not a lie, it is as it should have been from the beginning."  
Hikaru lifted his gaze towards FeiLong. "It is a lie ... it is a lie!", without realizing it, the boy pitched his voice higher. "Perhaps the sentiments that Ryuichi-san has demonstrated to me these days are not false, but the ones I ought to feel for him, they were altered by my loss of memory! You ... you do not know how much I ... I ...," Hikaru tightened his lips and he could not help but avert his gaze from FeiLong's.  
"How much you loved him ...?" the Chinese man continued instead of the pianist, and slid his hands away from him, "or how much you **_still_** love him?" he asked, and his voice seemed to come from so far away that the noise of the sea almost covered it.  
"Yes I love him, and now I remember how much I love him," the firmness of Hikaru's voice made FeiLong wince.  
_Why does this hurt so much? And what was that terrible feeling? Fear?  
_"But ...," the boy said  
FeiLong, his eyes were fixed into the pianist's, seized the boy's arms, tightening them maybe too much, but Hikaru gave no sign of noticing it.  
_But ... but ... What ?_  
The boy looked at him... but to look is too strong word, he "saw" him: without questions, without doubt, without secrets. "...but I am in love with you. I am in love with you now, and I was even when I hardly knew your name. Perhaps... I was in love with you even before I met you."

FeiLong caressed those tempting lips with his thumb and then took the boy's face into his hands. He laid his lips on Hikaru's, waiting for him to open them, and remained for a while breathing the other's breath, then gently searched, with his tongue, for Hikaru's. And through their lips, and their hands, that twisted night passed by, and so did the storm; the sea foam in the dark fading into the whiteness of their skin and the sound of the high waves fading into their moans


	20. Symphony for a farewell

Chapter 20: ..:: Sinfonia per una addio ::.. _ (Symphony for a farewell)_

__The man was standing supported with his right hand on a wall, in a dark corner of the room.

He was not a guest, strictly speaking, he was there for business. He was one of those obscure people who prepare the _golden world_ where other people moved as if it were their own, as if it were created from scratch only for them to use.  
In that place, there was music, elegant dresses, jewels, speaking mouths, fake smiles, private vices and public virtues.  
The man leaned on the wall and thought that these people were useless. They were only easy prey.

So boring.  
But not all of them...  
The man's name, or better, one of the man's names was Marcel Lorent, born from a French father and a Japanese mother.

The man was a florist. The man was a killer.  
In front of him, on the other side of the room, there were two men, sitting side by side at a table next to a glass wall in Club Sion.

Asami Ryuichi and a young boy.  
In the dim light, Marcel Lorent turned his attention on the slender figure of the boy.

He had long hair that slightly curled on his willowy neck and fell down to his shoulders.

Among the golden locks of hair, two dark almond-shaped eyes shone, framed by long lashes. Asami was saying something in his ear, probably to be heard over the din of the hall.  
Marcel thought he had just found his new prey, and thought that although this was a task that he had done many times before, this time he could not help but see in it the sign of a defeat.  
Marcel considered most people boring and unnecessary, and he had also considered his life the same way, but these last years at the Merchant's side had been very satisfactory, because he had been able to study closely a brilliant mind at work.

A mind that, with its recent decisions, had lost all its attractiveness.  
Marcel moved his glance on Asami.  
Here is someone with whom it would be interesting to deal with.  
This place was full of powerful people, people who had everything, but this is all they had.  
Asami Ryuichi was different, he was one of those people born with a curse: to desire.  
For some people already living was an arduous task, but for the men like the Yakuza, life is a challenge.

For them, life is nothing but something to win. Something to win hands down.  
The amazing thing is that these people will succeed, even if it means being alone.  
Once Marcel thought Suzuki was one of them... but now Marcel felt as though he had been cheated by him.

Perhaps the Merchant had never been this way... he was just playing at impersonating his Nemesis, and then what Marcel found worthy of respect in Suzuki was nothing but Asami's _reflection_ in him.

Unforgivable.  
Marcel gave another look at the couple sitting a few dozen meters from him.  
The merchant said to him that his informant reported some interesting news about Asami and his new bitch, news that would soon lead to the conclusion of his vengeance.  
Marcel had tried to emphasize that it would be better to be cautious and ponder over the information, but now that Suzuki felt so close to his goal he would not listen to reason.  
Shaking his head at the Merchant's unreasonableness, Marcel focused his attention to his next young target.  
The blond boy glanced distractedly around the room and seemed quite taken by the man at his side. His long, thin hands continually sought contact with the Yakuza.  
The killer had the disturbing impression that those eyes _seemed_ distracted, but, in reality, the boy was recording everything he saw, with a professional air.  
Marcel Lorent turned toward the exit and, with a shrug of his shoulders, exited Club Sion.  
Logically Takaba Akihito was to be a photographer, a sharp and intuitive person, but still _prey_.

The boy that was with Asami had the look of a predator.  
How weird...  
Maybe he should inform Suzuki that there was something wrong with him.  
Maybe...  
Well, he decided to not say anything: the Merchant surely did not want to listen to his hesitations.

Marcel found himself smiling; after all, the question "Asami Ryuichi" could still be funny...

The cold of the night was caressing the bare skin of Hikaru, who, with an indolent air, was lying on his belly on the bed still warm of love, with his cheek resting on the palm of his hand.  
With extreme attention, his eyes caressed the man having his back towards him; FeiLong was lying on the window jamb, illuminated only by a tiny table lamp, whose faint light was reflected by the fragments of the mirror, a thousand times over.  
The long haired man was there, wrapped into Hikaru's bathrobe, with his _inevitable_ grace that transpired from every unconscious gesture.

His long hair still damp shone as ivy wetted by the rain, and like ivy they seemed to climb from the back of the head instead of falling down.  
Outside the window, you could not see anything; after the rain, a thick fog had arrived, or maybe they were low clouds... it was difficult to say.  
Without moving an inch from his position, FeiLong turned his gaze backward.

His "hunter" instinct was always alert, regardless of the fact that his spirit, or his senses, were resting.

The Triad leader had_ felt _the eyes of the boy on his body.  
He had always hated being watched, especially because no one had ever looked at him _"innocently"_, well at least not in any of the various meanings that the word could have.  
Differently, beyond what he felt for him, he always found it pleasant to have Hikaru's gaze on him, a _mellow_ look, that was _seeing_ and nothing else. Without questions, without claims, without illusions, as if the eyes and the images were touching, like the breeze touches the leaves of the cherry trees.  
"Bad thoughts?" FeiLong asked before turning and walking towards Hikaru. It was not usual for the pianist to be so silent.  
The boy answered giving the older a melancholy smile.  
"I am sorry to have woken you up...," said the older man, sitting on the bed, "...tomorrow, early in the morning, I have to contact Asami in Tokyo for work, and I didn't want to wake you up, so I thought I would go back to my room, but it seems that you can't sleep tonight either, " continued the long haired man, lowering to drop a kiss on the naked shoulder of the boy.

"Please stay here...," the pianist whispered, taking the other man's hand and laying it on his lips.

The night ran away, even if the grey clouds did not allow the eyes to catch the light of the coming day.  
Hikaru didn't sleep that night. Crouched in FeiLong's arms, he watched that stunning man sleeping, and he adored his every breath and every movement of his eyelashes.

The boy had been thinking for so long.  
He'd wanted to explain to FeiLong what he felt in seeing his past life - from the outside, through memories that seemed to be the story of someone else's life – and realizing how he had been weak and childish and whimsical.  
Hikaru had lived the first 17 years of his life with elderly parents, taking on responsibility and tasks that were well beyond his age.

Then in his life Asami had arrived, and he had _stopped growing._

The boy let Asami change him, to take him, to use him.

His weakness had led him to name, with the word _love, _that which was only an emotional dependency. Think for instance about Asami, Hikaru's urge to feel his hands and lips on him, to feel achieved only when he was with him, feeling pain for all his silences, for every absence, every betrayal; Hikaru had mistaken all of that for love, instead it was an obsession. And he lived this lie for five years.

He had fought Asami trying to change him, so he can become similar to what Asami would like him to be. The boy hid himself behind a false image, and did _everything _to keep it.  
When you are really in love, instead, you take off any mask.  
Hikaru had learned what to be in love means from FeiLong, through his kisses and his arms.

He had confessed his love, and he would continue to tell him a thousand times over, although the older man would continue to not reply to him with those same words.  
Hikaru wants FeiLong's love, and also his regard: this was the main reason why he should begin _to grow_ again.  
Now he had to solve his own problems without always counting on the fact that Asami would solve them in his place. He should at least try to settle on his own the accounts with his past, with the man who had killed his mother and had tried to kill him.  
And he had to do it alone.

***  
The rumbling of a distant thunder ...  
The horizon on the sea was lit in violet: a purple that increasingly faded in black on land the further away from the sea one went, while threatening clouds, also violet in color, gathered again on the small bay.  
Gulls flew in large circles near to the surface of the sea, which was crossed by huge black waves with frothy crests.  
A drop, then another, and another yet went to splatter on the glass ...  
Akihito went out, under the patio, despite that the lightning was so close as to suggest more caution, and he stood spellbound looking out at the wild sea.  
In his ears a cascade of different sounds: the rain, the waves and the wind.  
Despite the fury of nature, the lack of any "human" sound gave him the sense of _silence_, a silence that was not serenity, silence that was just dirty water and cold air on his skin.  
Asami had provided him only limited information about Himeko, and although this was certainly more than he had ever said about her to anyone else, except perhaps Hikaru, this was not enough.  
The boy held tight his black jacket, and lowered his gaze.  
The awareness of being again in the dark, now and in future, about the feelings and events of the life of the man he loved, about his thoughts and his sentiment, sometimes was almost unbearable.  
You should be very strong and self-confident to deal with a man like Asami, and Akihito feared that he didn't possess that ability.  
"Takaba-kun ...?" A gentle voice with a sensual scratch in the background, called him from behind his back

The photographer laid his beautiful dark-amber eyes on the young man who was a few meters from him.  
Hikaru was sitting at a wicker table, and had laid his golden eyes on him.  
The pianist smiled, lifting the collar of the long black coat in which he was wrapped in. A long coat, perhaps a bit too large for him. Given the slight scent of amber that emanated from it, Akihito took a very short time to understand that it was FeiLong's coat.  
Hikaru turned his gaze again on the sea. "I think I must apologize to you...," he said.  
Akihito blushed imperceptibly, because those apology implied the need to tackle very personal issues; to discuss them with the pianist was as to talk about your private life with a stranger.

They had been living together for several days, and it had not been difficult to forge a friendship with Hikaru... with _that_ Hikaru.  
Akihito turned his gaze toward the sea, as well.  
The boy who had just apologized was no longer the one of the last few days, and was not the boy that called Asami "father".

Akihito was sure that Hikaru now remembered his joint past with Asami. However, the light that shone in his absurd calm golden eyes, seemed to contemplate that past with distance, as if it was the past of someone else.  
"You don't love him anymore?" Akihito asked, simply.  
"I love him immensely," said the pianist.  
Akihito turned his head towards him. The aristocratic profile of the boy stood out from the background of black clouds that continued to thicken on the horizon.  
"... But I am not in love with him ... and he certainly never has been in love with me ...," he added, taking away a lock of hair from his delicate turned-up nose with the tip of his long, strong pianist's fingers.  
"It will not be easy to be with him... it is never easy to be _his, _Akihito, but don't think about that ... it's useless. You had no choice, and you know it, because you are in-love with him..."  
The photographer blushed; it was as if the other boy could read his thoughts, his fears... Or maybe Hikaru was just referring to his own experience.

He was right, it was useless basking in doubt when you know perfectly well that the sentiment you feel goes beyond any reasonable desire of happiness: Akihito's link with Asami was something...something...

"_Inevitable_" concluded Akihito, aloud.  
"I can assure you that it is also inevitable for him ...," said Hikaru, collecting the sheets that lay on the table, sheets that seemed to be handwritten musical scores ,and moving toward Akihito.  
The photographer looked at him in surprise, and his hazelnut eyes widened when Hikaru laid a gentle kiss on his lips. His full tender lips brushed against his. For a moment, Akihito felt the need to close his eyes.  
"Do not give up, Takaba-kun... you can save him," he whispered, heading inside the house, holding the score tight in his hand. The title was "_Symphony for a farewell_".

The traffic was terrible, as always at rush-hour, but that day the situation had significantly worsened by the incessant rain that was lashing the city.  
In the luxurious black limousine, driven by Yoh, Asami and FeiLong were seated side by side, returning from their fruitful business lunch.  
Asami opened the window, despite the air conditioning that was keeping the indoor temperature pleasurable, which left the moist air to enter freely inside.

He continued to look outside, his face supported on a hand, his long legs overlapped.

The golden glance of his eyes wander absentmindedly on the world outside the car, while his free hand caressed his sightly open lips. His gloomy beauty invaded the surrounding space.  
FeiLong turned his gaze from him and led it towards the opposite window. What was passing away in front of his eyes was like colored stain diluted by the rain.  
The silence reigned in the car.  
"FeiLong, tonight I need Yoh, Kirishima and Suoh. Can you let some of your men monitor the villa?" Asami asked, suddenly.  
FeiLong gave a questioning look to the Yakuza, frowning.  
"Do you want someone you don't know protecting Akihito and Hikaru? When you brought them there, you practically ordered me to send away everyone that did not meet your personal approval," he said.  
"You do not need to explain to your men who is in the villa. They only need to know that it is an order from you, right? Simply tell them to not allow anyone to enter the villa," said the older man, "if everything goes according to my plans, Akihito and Hikaru, from tomorrow on, will no longer need to take advantage of your hospitality," he added, fishing a cigarette from the pack.  
FeiLong felt his irritation rising, and he needed to revert to all his trained self-control to prevent it from coming out.  
"You have organized the trap against Suzuki for tonight, and you say it to me only now?" He said then, and the tone of his voice coming out a little too forced, betraying his emotions.  
"I did not see, and still do not see, the reason why I should have let you know about this earlier...," Asami said, with a flat tone, drawing a mouthful of smoke, "... and I am telling it to you now only for you information. I am very grateful for the support you have given me, and certainly I will not forget it, but this is not your war FeiLong, is it?"  
FeiLong turned his face, trying to control his anger.  
In any other situation, he would have no objection to what was just stated by Asami. This was the Yakuza war, his revenge that he had been pursued for years, and he did not want someone else's interference. Exactly what the Chinese would do in his place.  
But...  
"Please, correct me if I am wrong ...," Asami continued, provocatively "the issue between Suzuki and me is not up to you, right? Himeko's murder is not up to you, the threat on Akihito's life is not up you, and what they did to Hikaru is not up t..."  
FeiLong's voice was cold and resolute when he interrupted the Yakuza: "Hikaru _is_ up to me, _Hikaru is mine_."

***  
Akihito was sitting on the windowsill, in the room on the second floor of the villa that he had often shared with Asami, busy to catch with his camera the _anger of nature_.  
He took several photos, with very interesting framing, of the storm that was going away.  
Now the rain fell thick, but the wind had ceased.  
Kirishima had reported that, according with what Asami ordered to him, that evening he and Hikaru would be alone in the house, with Tao and the old housekeeper.

FeiLong would probably be back later, but the bodyguard wasn't able to say at what hour.

Some of the Triad men would come to replace him and Suoh, but they would have safeguarded the boys from the outside the villa. No one else would ever know that they were hidden there.  
This had worried Akihito and made him suspicious. Asami surely was plotting something, and certainly it would be something dangerous.  
The photographer sighed.  
All of a sudden, some movement outside on the small beach attracted his attention.  
He zoomed with the camera and saw a figure walking away stealthily from the villa, under the pouring rain.

"Hikaru? Where the hell is he going!"


	21. The final countdown

_**Chapter 21: ..::The final count-down ::.. ** ____**  
**_

_Mine._  
Asami and FeiLong were looking at each other for a few, rather long minutes. The calm and composed expression of the Yakuza seemed not to have been even slightly moved by the revelation from the younger man, but after a more careful analysis, you would not have been able to miss the flash of cruel fury that had, for one second, passed through those golden eyes.  
It was only a moment.  
Now Asami was watching FeiLong with apparent calm, his chin slightly raised, so that, despite being seated side by side, he seemed to almost look down upon the younger man.  
The Triad Leader never wavered in his gaze while looking at the Yakuza; framed by the long ebony eyelashes, two dark brown pupils in which cold amethyst streaks of light shone in them, remained chained to the amber gaze of the older man.  
Only at that moment, to his great surprise, FeiLong realized how much Asami's eyes were similar to Hikaru's: same shade, same color, same light. Asami's were lacking in only one thing compared to Hikaru's, the _enchantment._ He knew that it lacked even in his own eyes, and he wondered when the two of them had lost it. Or maybe they had never owned it.  
"FeiLong, I thought you had overcome your _obsession_ for me ...," the Yakuza said, with an ironic tone while crushing a cigarette, now reduced to a butt, into the ashtray, "... instead, I see that it brings you forever and always into laying your hands on what belongs to me ... Do you think that fucking Hikaru was been helpful to your goal?"  
"You're wrong…!"  
Asami, raising an eyebrow, watched the Triad leader, surprised by the younger man's calm and conciliatory tone. At the same time, FeiLong seemed amazed by his own reactions.

"You're not the reason why I decided to be with Hikaru...," there was a shade of surprise in FeiLong eyes, as if he realized only now how much Hikaru was deeply ingrained in him, and how little his past relation with Asami had to do with his feelings for the boy. "It was when I had decided to leave him, only to break all ties with you, that I was conditional on my obsession. Not now that I want him to be with me. Not... now," and he smiled, realizing what this consciousness raising really meant.  
The Yakuza brought the just lit cigarette to his lips and drew a puff of smoke, and with delight tasted it slowly and then blew it away sensually.  
"Interesting... And how much are you willing to risk for Hikaru's nice '_face'"?_ You know that I can decide to make your life and Baishe's very hard," he said, fondling his lower lips with a finger of his free hand.  
FeiLong smiled, "It is precisely Hikaru who taught me that desires are the most important thing that we have, and we cannot ignore them for too long. Sometimes it may be worth your while risking everything to achieve them. And often, you'll pay a heavy price for this, don't you think? However, the important thing is that, when it comes time to pay, you must be ready to pay any price. Now, are you sure that you really want to know what I am willing to risk?"  
Asami turned his gaze on the other man, frowning.

A few drops of rain came through the open window, lying like tiny flakes of crystal, on the dark fabric of his jacket.  
"You will not ever be able to take him away from me for good, are you aware of this?" Asami said, taking another mouthful of smoke. In his intentions, they were not words meant for effect or for threat. It was only a statement of fact.  
"I know," said FeiLong, moistening his lips with gracefulness, while his black velvet eyes casually followed the dark stains that paraded outside the misted up window, "... no one could do this, he loves you, and I do not have any intention of forcing him to make a choice. But, Asami, **_maybe_** it could be true that what is between you and Hikaru is not up to me...," the Triad leader made a brief pause before suddenly bringing his face near Asami's,"... but do not get between me and him, because this **_surely _**is not up to you!" he ended, and a cold and sharp light crossed his eyes.  
The older man's expression was not minimally modified as respect to his usually calm and composed one. "Your wolf's nature finally has taken the upper hand on the lamb's mask, eh? But you would have to know that it is unwise to threaten me, FeiLong," said the Yakuza, looking into the younger man's eyes, which now were so close that FeiLong's hair brushed gently on Asami's cheek.  
"It is not a threat, is a word of advise," the Triad leader said, sitting again in his place and tiding up a lock of his long hair that slipped out of his low ponytail.  
Asami breathed a puff of smoke with his full lips and replied with his trademark smile to FeiLong's words.  
Several minutes of silence went by, during which time Asami quietly continued to smoke and FeiLong looked outside the window towards his left.  
"You had already understood what was going on between me and Hikaru, right? Why did you not say something?" the Chinese man asked suddenly.  
Asami calmly inhaled the last mouthful from the cigarette, which was now reduced to a butt, and threw it into the ashtray.  
"A long time ago I swore to protect him and to defend him, to love him and to ensure his happiness. I have protected and defended him since the beginning, and I have also learned to... _care_, but I could not make him happy. If doing_ nothing_ can allow me to keep my word all the way, I will do it. However, I want to make it clear that no one will take him away from me completely. Understand?"  
"I'll try to remember this," replied the Triad leader, with a grin.

The rain that was tapping on his face was cold and annoying. The sky was strange, covered by

violet-colored clouds that seemed to move quickly, despite that the strong wind coming from the

sea had stopped, and a light, cold breeze blowing from the north had taken its place, which

seemed not to make any noise.

Hikaru walked along the path that left the house, beside the sea. He walked fast, without turning back until he reached the grove of elms.  
The boy stopped to protect himself from the rain under a large tree, and finally turning his gaze back to the villa.

There are few places in this world that you can call _home_.

Hikaru had always considered as his home only the unassuming house that he had shared with his step-parents. He was not ever able to feel at home in the luxury apartment that Asami had purchased for him and where he had lived the past four years, and the same was for Asami's penthouse.

Yet, the villa, in the balance between the sky and the sea, laid on that strip of land so narrow that you could expect that at any moment a wave could erase it as easily as the words written on the sea line, and that last only as long as a breath of the wave... that villa, in his mind, even for a short time, had been his "_home_".  
That was the place where he and FeiLong had passed hours giving back life to each other, the place where, among FeiLong's kisses and caresses, he had learned what love was.  
His eyes embraced every stone of that building, the only place where he wanted to be, but he could not.

Despite of what we wanted, every one of us has his journey to take. Everyone has his own bogeyman to face. Even if it is reckless. Even if it is unwise.  
Hikaru lifted the collar of the black leather coat, breathing the scent of amber that impregnated it and closed his eyes.  
"Goodbye, my angel...," he said, and then moved into the woods, resolved to climb the slope towards the main road.

Wrapped up in his K-way, Akihito walked with long strides on the beach.

_In the beginning, when he first saw Hikaru through the lens of his camera walking away from the house, he didn't lend weight to that. _

_Akihito had learned several things about the pianist in the recent days, and he had realized that Hikaru had something like a "novel" inside him, and that novel was his lifestyle, with its own logic.  
"It is probably not strange for an artist to walk under the rain," he thought.  
The photographer thought back to Hikaru's image caught in his viewfinder; the boy wrapped in FeiLong's black leather coat, his long, wet eyelashes and the water droplets slipping down his cheeks and going to die between his lips.  
Hikaru and FeiLong, huh?_

_Who would have ever though that!  
All of a sudden, in his mind, the image of the two men kissing materialized... then the raindrops sliding on their skin...  
The photographer blushed; the image was becoming less and less chaste! _

_Akihito's cheeks became almost purple thinking about the kiss Hikaru had given him on the terrace, "That stupid Hikaru!" he murmured...,"Shit!" The boy exclaimed then, out of the blue, started running and taking his K-way.  
Only at that moment did Akihito realize that that kiss was nothing but a goodbye, and Hikaru was plotting something, something dangerous and stupid.  
_The photographer lengthened his steps, sheltering his eyes from the rain with his hand.  
The wind ceased, but the drops were falling so thick that they were forming a dense and suffocating blanket of water, which made it almost difficult to breathe.  
Akihito reached the grove of elms and sat on an overturned trunk, trying to breathe again and recollect his thoughts.

He looked around, discouraged.  
The rain was gathering on the leaves, which shone as if they were metallic, and then falling to the ground in big drops.  
Until now, it was not difficult to follow Hikaru, thanks to the tracks on the sand wetted by the rain, but now the boy really did not know where to go.  
The photographer sighed.

Hearing the crackling of steps behind him, he turned, only to find a gun aimed at his face. For a moment, he remained enchanted, looking into the black hole of the barrel, then he gazed towards the person that held the weapon.  
"Go back to Liu-sama's headquarters, Akihito!" Hikaru's words were certainly not an invitation, they seemed more like an order.  
"Are you crazy?" Said the photographer, standing with an angry expression on his face.

His hazel eyes were burning.

Hikaru lowered the weapon "Please ...," he added, turning and starting again to climb the slope.  
Akihito followed, starting to walk beside him.  
"Go back to the villa, Takaba-kun. Everything will be over very soon, and you can return to your normal life; to your loved ones, your friends, your work... to Ryuichi. It makes no sense for you to risk your life."  
Akihito grasped his arm, yanking him.  
"Stop, damn! What the hell are you planning to do? If everything will be over soon, why are you risking your life walking around without protection? Why don't you wait for Asami to solve all of this and then you also can go back to your life..."  
"What life?" The pianist abruptly interrupted him, "The one in which I clothed myself in Asami's glory? No thanks! The only life that I wish to have cannot be grasped until I have done what I need to do. If I do not get back the respect for myself, how can I gain the respect from other people? From the one I love..."

The man appeared at the window that overlooked the small garden of the Western style house that, at the ground floor, hosted the offices of the _Sagiso Flowers Inc_, and on the first floor, his apartment.  
In the tiny garden, bushes, flower beds and high stem plants created a stunning effect of light and shadow. Unfortunately, it was not appreciated under that livid sky.

He passed a hand through his thick hair, glossy as silk. Marcel was a handsome 42-year-old man, who had inherited from his father, the proportions and stature of a _gaikokujin_ and from his Japanese mother, his lithe and slender body. His face was a beautiful mixture of the two races, with almond-shaped dark-brown eyes framed by locks of golden hair.

Actually, Marcel was not very interested in his appearance, even if he was perfectly aware of the fact that, to the contrary, people seemed very interested in his look, especially women, of course. Women with eyes full of promises so trivial that he could read the word _end_ in them even before anything could even begin.  
The Merchant was sure that later on that same night, he could be rid of his mortal enemy for good, while enjoying the sight of his new bitch suffering, before killing him.

Marcel was not very convinced that things would go that way, but he would follow Suzuki in this adventure, and certainly not for loyalty.  
He was a mercenary and was acting only for the handsome profit in money. It was a job, and behind it, there were no ideologies, issues of honor etcetera. To bring to a close the work for which he was paid was his second priority in his life. The first was to get out alive.  
Suzuki was the first person he had agreed to work for almost exclusively for several years. Usually he accepted one commission for each customer and then walked away.  
The cunning, the wit, the cold and sharp hatred that led the Merchant to create an empire after his family had been practically decimated by Asami, had made him so interesting to Marcel's eyes that he had decided to follow him for so many years.

He also had to pretend to be almost stupid in front of Suzuki, because only in this way the Merchant might reveal something of his modus operandi. Suzuki liked to feel superior and Marcel liked to study those rare people who were "special" among that obtuse flock of sheep that he believed the whole of humanity to be.

Suzuki now had revealed his weakness: the anger. The envy for Asami had shown him for what he really was... a man like any other.

Marcel was not sure when his interest in the Merchant had begun to decline, but it was probably due to the order that he had received to kill Miwa Hikaru in the specific way that Suzuki had asked him to do it, which revealed the substantial fragility of the Merchant.  
Not to mention that Marcel had spied on Hikaru for several years, and he felt _something _for him. If he had to say what, he could not, since the mercenary had no great familiarity with things like feelings.

However, he surely liked "interesting" people, and he found Hikaru very interesting.

Marcel sat on an armchair.  
Most likely, it would have been the Yakuza to checkmate the Merchant that night, and logically, the best thing to do for Marcel would be to pretend to support Suzuki, get his money and be as far away as possible from Asami Ryuichi. But ...  
But Marcel was fascinated by Asami and simply wanted to see this battle, hoping to get out alive. Sometimes it is worth taking the risk.

Akihito looked outside the window, as if looking out the window of a subway's train could show you something interesting in the deep and absolute darkness of the underground tunnels.  
The reflection of the window showed the image of Hikaru who was sitting next to him.  
The photographer still could not believe that they had managed to leave the house ... obviously the men who were guarding the villa had just received the order to not let anyone enter, even without receiving an explanation on why and who was inside. Asami and FeiLong had never even imagined that the two of them could leave and throw themselves into the enemy's fangs.

Especially since Akihito still could not believe it.  
"Why the hell am I always in these types of situations?" he said, loud enough to be heard by the pianist.  
"Nobody asked you to follow me. You can get off at the next station ...," Hikaru echoed after the other's words.  
Akihito replied with a grimace, and stubbornly continued to look outside.  
They had gone through the woods and arrived at the highway, and thanks to the kindness of a passer-by, got a ride to the nearest metro station.  
Akihito put his hands in the jacket's pocket and felt under his finger the smooth surface of his cell. Fortunately, it was in the pocket of the K-way, and it would not have been difficult to inform Asami, but he first had to understand where Hikaru was going, and he had to do it discreetly. If the pianist realized that Akihito was informing the Yakuza, he would try to shake him off.  
"Why are you doing this?" Akihito asked after some time, turning towards him.  
Hikaru sighed imperceptibly and turned toward the photographer, "Ryuichi didn't tell you who the man was who tried to kill me, did he?"  
"Well... he didn't say much to me, but... I was told that he is the man who killed Himeko," Akihito said, with a thoughtful air.  
"Yes, and he is my real father," said the other boy, looking at him with two eyes that shone of antique gold. Two eyes that were way _too_ calm.  
Akihito held his breath.

The competition between the two mafia organizations, according to what the old journalist said, had turned into a feud to the death as a result of Himeko's kidnapping and raping. So, the birth of all that hate and that trail of blood was also the birth of the boy sitting next to him.

Hikaru was simply trying to close the loop alone.  
"Every phase of my life was the result of the willing and the action of someone else: my birth was the result of Himeko's kidnapping, just as my "second life" with Asami was the result of her assassination. From Ryuichi's father, the decision to take me away from Himeko resulted in my adoption and from all of Ryuichi's decisions, sprang my every single breath in recent years. So far, I have culpably restricted myself to "suffer" to other people's wills… and now that it is time to end this madness it will be ended by me... or I will be ended by it."  
The photographer was dumb struck. The extreme determination with which Hikaru had pronounced those words made clear that there was nothing he could say or do to dissuade him.  
In a sense, Akihito understood him very well, and maybe it was right that Hikaru had to deal firsthand with that tragic story, but it was a suicide, and he could not permit it.

He had to wait for just the right moment to inform Asami.  
"You remembered who the man that tried to kill you was, right?" Said the photographer after several minutes of silence during which the other boy seemed engrossed in his deep thoughts.  
"You are intuitive," the pianist replied laconically.  
"And who is he?"  
"Do you want to laugh?" said Hikaru sarcastically,"… he is the florist!"

And then he lowered his gaze to the ground. It was clear that he no longer wished to talk about the matter, and his mind was elsewhere.  
Hikaru took in the leather coat, savoring FeiLong's scent on it.  
Akihito also turned his gaze elsewhere, because the small scale of light that was falling from Hikaru eyes and along his cheek was something too private to join in.  
After a half-hour journey, where no other words were exchanged, Hikaru and Akihito finally arrived at the terminus where they would take the train.  
It was a sparsely attended train station, and Hikaru was not strangely moved by the station quay, as if he were waiting for someone.  
"Are we to stay here?" said the photographer, who was beginning to lose his patience, while a new train stopped next to them and the doors opened automatically.  
"Perhaps" said the other, smiling.  
Akihito huffed, crossing his arms and taking an angry expression, also annoyed by the beep emitted by the train car door that they felt close automatically.  
Shortly before the sound stopped, Akihito felt a push on his back and ended up crashing on the floor of the rail car. He shook his head, reaching his hand to his neck, and not even having time to understand what had happened, the doors were tightly closed and the train was set in motion.  
Realizing at once what was happening, the photographer's will increased with a jump, but was made just in time to see Hikaru's golden eyes and sad smile from the dock station while the train with him on board was swallowed by the gallery.  
The pianist had whispered something while the train moved away.  
Akihito was almost certain to have read his lips say something like "Take care of them."

The restaurant where Asami and FeiLong were directed was actually an old traditional house owned by Asami and positioned in an area far from the chaos of Tokyo's downtown. Usually it was rented by visitors for business lunch and dinner, and the customers were business men, politicians and jet-set members who wished to show their foreign clients or friends what some of the Japanese culinary traditions were, or to attend the Tea Ceremony.  
FeiLong was standing in the _engawa_ * near the outer garden of the Teahouse, his hands intertwined behind his back.

The rain thinned out, and now it had become just a ticking on the wood and the leaves that was covered by the evocative sound that came from the _suikinkutsu_ **. When the excess water ran over the edge of the _tsukubai_ ***, it dropped down onto the polished pebbles below. Hidden below the ground there was a large ceramic vase. When the water hit the pebbles, creeping tiny droplets fell through and then travelled the additional distance into the vase, making a sound very similar to what you could hear in an underground cave.  
Asami stood a few steps behind the younger man, lighting his ubiquitous cigarette.  
"Is it here that you want to trigger your trap tonight?" asked the Chinese man, without turning towards him, "it is almost sacrilegious to transform the sacredness of this place into a lake of blood."  
"You are probably right FeiLong, but I see the world in a more prosaic way, so I simply chose the most convenient place." The Yakuza approached the Triad leader, and stopped beside him, "this place is fairly isolated and will make Suzuki believe that he can win easily. From the false information that I allowed him to hear, it was clear that this evening me and _my lover_, who will be played by the boy that was with me yesterday at Sion, would be here alone, and with a reduced number of my men waiting outside. Suzuki does not have an organization behind him, only mercenaries who work for him for money, and, according_ to_ the information circulating in the underworld, they are not that many and, most of all, they are not so faithful. If I were able to find out who they are, I could simply decide to pay them more than Suzuki and ask them to kill him, but I couldn't find any definite information on them, and plus, not wanting to waste time, I had to go to the B plan: kill the bastard with my own hands."  
Asami's glance lingered for a moment on the scarlet maple tree near them, before settling on the green ebony tree. The Yakuza seemed absorbed in admiring the garden that shone under the light, but insistent, rain. FeiLong followed the other's gaze, thinking that the Yakuza was calculating where Suzuki would probably attack and refreshing his mind to every detail of the trap that he had set.

The Triad leader turned his eyes from the garden to Asami's face, and once again met the golden glance of those eyes so similar to Hikaru's.  
"It is not a coincidence that your eyes were so similar," said FeiLong, and it was not an answer, it was a statement.  
Asami breathed out a puff of smoke and looked at him without replying. Waiting.

FeiLong continued, "I did some research on this damned Suzuki Ryushi. It seems as though the history of his family is not a secret to most of the people who are associated with the Japanese underworld, but it is hard as hell for others to find out about.I was told that his grandfather was a leader of

the most powerful family of his time, the Suzuki's, and that he had some problems with his younger brother, a man who was not only very capable but also very shrewd, but that he could not inherit the command. This man died in unclear circumstances, and his son, Ryosei, agreed to be at the head of the cadet branch of the family. Later, when the head of the main family was _our _Suzuki's father, Ryosei's son, a proud, clever and smart man, refused to follow the orders of the main family's leader, that he considered inept, and tried to make his way in the underworld. After that the information I found became unclear..."  
Asami turned his eyes back to the garden again, "I can illuminate you, because now there is no more time for secrets, and this night I will end this entire story. The rebellious son of Ryosei left the Suzuki's and began again from the lowest rank, but soon he began to make his way in the underworld. He was an intelligent, cunning and charismatic man, and was hired by a very enterprising rival family of the Suzuki's. The boss of this family was a very wise and capable man but he had no sons, and so, admiring the skills of Ryosei's son, he gave him his eldest daughter as a wife. The son of Ryosei changed his last name, which was obviously Suzuki, taking the surname of his wife, as was customary when the family of the wife is more important or noble, and became the implacable rival of his original family. While he progressed, the Suzuki's, headed by the father of _our_ _Ryushii_, decayed, therefore, the Suzuki family could not forgive him. The name of the man who challenged the Suzuki's by becoming the leader of their rival was Suzuki Ryunosuke, and after his marriage, it became _Asami Ryunosuke_, my father."  
FeiLong widened his eyes, "...and then you are and Hikaru are really relatives," he said, swallowing.  
"We have some ancestors in common, yes," said the older man, with nonchalance.  
For a few long moments the only sound was the perceptible rain in the background and the music of the _suikinkutsu**_, but suddenly the cellphone in Asami's pocket rang.

The Yakuza fished it from his pocket.  
"Asami here... Akihito? What? Hikaru? What the hell did he do?" The usually calm expression of the Yakuza suddenly revealed the concern while he continued to talk to Akihito.  
FeiLong felt a cold shiver running along his back.

Hikaru walked under the rain that, from the storm, had turned into a spring drizzle, on a route that clambered up on a tiny hill.

Outside the subway's station, he bought one of those folding umbrellas; he thought that one of the best ways to attract attention was certainly walking around under the rain without the shield of an umbrella.  
That very morning, after FeiLong left the house to meet up with Asami In Tokyo, he went back to sleep again and dreamed, once again, the scene of the assault in the bathroom at the reception hall, only this time the dream was very clear, and he had once again seen the face of his assailant. When he suddenly had woken up, he realized that he could remember everything perfectly, as if he had not ever lost his memory.  
While thinking of all these things, he arrived at a point where the road changed direction, and going over the curve, he saw the house he was looking for.  
The pianist already knew where the offices of the "Sagiso Flowers Inc" were, because the owner of the company, by virtue of the fact that for years he was the supplier of various businesses owned by Asami, especially Club Sion and several of its other night clubs and restaurants, had offered a special price for the arrangement of the hall at Hikaru's first piano concert. The owner of the "Sagiso Flowers Inc.," since Hikaru now remembered it, was the man who had tried to kill him.  
The boy stopped a hundred meters from the mansion that was both the office and the house of Marcel Lorent. Around the house, there was an oversized garden, shaded by tall hedges. Nothing strange, for a garden centre, but also very useful to hide what could happen in that house.  
Hikaru glanced around, the house was a few hundred meters from the other houses in the suburbs, but only now that he knew what the profession of the owner really was, he realized that, despite being in a residential area not so much outside the center of the city and so unsuspecting, in reality was hidden from the other houses and easily defendable.  
The entrance gate was open. The pianist had been there three or four times, so he knew that there were no dogs and also no one standing guard. Considering that, logically, Marcel Lorent had no reason to consider the current situation different from that of a few months ago, Hikaru clasped the gun, and adventured in the garden, sheltered by the trees.  
Now Hikaru was just at few meters from the building, and he stopped, hidden behind a bush, to gather ideas. All of a sudden, he felt a hand gently touching his shoulder and, with his heart in his mouth, he turned slowly.  
_to be continued...  
_  
Asami's family tree can be found here: .

* thaditional japanese house pathio  
** water harp  
*** a particular kind od fountain/little pool


	22. The night comes down

**CHAPTER 22 ..:: The night comes down ::..**

The car darted, dangerously zigzagging, through the traffic that was slowly thinning as they approached the outlying residential neighborhoods of Tokyo.  
After Akihito's phone call, Asami went directly to the car, followed by FeiLong who, after asking what was going on a couple of times without getting any replies restricted himself to following the Yakuza.  
Asami jumped in the car, seating himself behind the wheel, because there was no time to wait for Yoh to reach them, especially since he had been given one hour of freedom.

FeiLong had just had time to sit on the passenger seat when Asami started the car and then raced away at full speed.  
The Yakuza said aloud an address, and FeiLong, without asking for an explanation, called his men and ordered them to converge at that address, and then he called Yoh saying to organize even Asami's people as well.  
The limousine ran on roads now barely busy. FeiLong watched with the corner of his eye the man concentrating at the wheel. He seemed quiet, he seemed calm.

He was not.  
A slight contraction of the jaw, from time to time, was the sign that Asami was worried.  
"Stupid brat…, he went to put himself in the maw of the lion," whispered the Yakuza, probably more to himself then to his fellow traveller.  
FeiLong lowered his gaze, which fell on his hand lying on his knee. For a moment, he had the impression that it was trembling.  
Asami had not yet said anything specific, but it was not necessary.  
Hikaru had left the villa, and headed for that address Asami had said to him, which was likely the address of the person who had tried to kill the boy.  
FeiLong shook his head, and long strands of black silk moved for a moment in the air, similar to weeping willow leaves caressed by the wind. The Triad leader, with that gesture, would have wanted to chase away that insistent noise he was hearing in his ears, but to his dismay, he realized that it was nothing but the beat of his own heart.

The Chinese man shut his eyes, and he would have liked to _believe_, that in that moment, he could trust in god, in whatever god there was, just so long as he could ask him to protect Hikaru, just to be able to deceive himself that someone or something could be there to protect him no matter where the boy was.  
However, FeiLong had no god, and none of them would probably ever grant the prayers of a man like him, anyway.  
"We have destroyed many things just to be able to fulfill our bloody desires," said the Chinese man, suddenly, "there was no other way for people like us, there was not a way that doesn't breack someone on the process... suffering and give pain, it has always been this way. The one that is able to tolerate the most pain would have won, I always considered that a normal thing... but now..."  
"Say what you have to tell me, FeiLong, without you telling me too many words that really mean nothing," said Asami.  
Fei Long looked at him and vehemently said, "If Hikaru dies because of your stupid feud, if Hikaru dies, to regain the dignity that he believe to have lost because of you... I will kill you."

"Not before I have killed Suzuki, FeiLong," said the Yakuza without irony, pressing down his foot even more on the accelerator, which caused the car to bite a road that seemed to be never ending.  
The house they had just left was not far from the "White Sagiso Inc", but they had so little time.  
Asami looked at FeiLong for a moment through the corner of his eye and realized that they were thinking the same thing. That _time_ could be already finished.

Hikaru was inside the house, standing with his back against the wall of a small room without windows, which looked something like a semi-empty storeroom. Inside there was only a bed and a chair.  
The boy realized that he had been pushing the palms of his hands against the wall in a way that he had begun to feel pain in his limbs. Certainly, the wall would not have moved backwards a single inch, and he had not had an opportunity to put more space between himself and the man that was between him and the door.  
He felt as a mouse in a trap.  
He _was_ a mouse in a trap.  
Even though Hikaru stared with a challenging air at the penetrating gaze of the other man, he was scared.  
That man was Marcel Lorent, the man who had tried to kill him by staging a suicide, and he had almost succeeded.  
He was the man who had, shortly before, arrived furtively behind him without making the slightest noise, then he had immobilized and disarmed him without a single lock of his dark-blond hair slipping out of place. The man that gripped both of his wrists in one hand, like in a steel vice, and whispered, with a reassuring air, "Don't worry, I will not harm you."  
Marcel took a step towards him, until he was about two feet from the pianist.

"You were my first mistake," said the man, with a calm voice spoken in his strange foreign accent, before moving a hand to his thick amber hair and putting a lock behind his right ear. "My first failed task," he added, approaching more closer, "… and, strangely, instead of it disturbing me, it actually pleases me. You are so interesting," he finally said after a long pause, as if finding the right word to describe his interest in the younger man was not something simple or trivial. Then he lengthened his right hand toward the face of the boy.  
"Don't touch me!" Hikaru felt relieved to hear that the sound of his own voice was so strong, even if pervaded by a slight tremor.  
"Didn't I say that I was not going to harm you?" Asked the man.  
Hikaru widened his eyes. It was not a rhetorical question, it was simply a question. This man really thought that the only reason why the pianist might have doubts about his intentions was because he hadn't heard his earlier assurances.  
"Why the hell should I believe in your words? You have already tried to kill me!" The boy screamed.  
"That was work... but now I have decided that I will not work for your father anymore." he said, moving away in order to try to reduce the discomfort caused by his proximity to the boy.  
"I think I find you much more interesting then him," he added, with a slightly doubtful expression on his face. He had no doubts about that he found Hikaru very interesting, but about the fact that the word "interesting" was not the correct one to describe what he felt.  
He had always found these so-called _feelings_ a too complicated thing. It was irritating.  
Hikaru brought the arms to close around his body, as to console in a self-embrace, while the beats of his heart began to decelerate.  
With extreme disbelief for what he felt, the pianist was beginning to believe that he could trust in his _murderer_!  
"What are you doing here? I assumed that you were being kept safe somewhere," Marcel said, with curiosity.  
"Suzuki has employed you to kill me, not to kill Asami, then you are my problem, not his...," the pianist retorted, while he felt his muscles slightly relaxing.  
"You came here alone, without Asami's consent, only to settle the accounts with me? A pianist against a professional killer? It's not only for this, right? Or should I have to assume that you are a fool who is unable to evaluate his limits ... "  
"That it is probably what I am ...," said Hikaru, in a breath, lowering his eyes to the ground.

Among the intricate net of his long eyelashes, for a moment the liquid shimmer of a tear seemed to shine.  
Marcel frowned at the sight.  
_He did not want_. The hit man welcomed the realization of this feeling with a _weird_ thrill. _He did not want the boy to cry_. If he would have not known himself well, _and he knew himself very well_, he would have almost believed that he had felt some kind of_ sentiment_.  
"You are not a fool," Marcel said. "When you decided to come here, were you scared?" he asked then.  
Hikaru nodded, taken aback because of the behavior of the man.  
"So you are not a fool, you came here thinking that you could easily get what you wanted, but conscious of not having neither the skills nor the strength to get what you came for. _But you had to come_. You are not stupid, you're _brave _... The courage is doing what you fear to do. There is no courage if you're not scared."  
A smile relaxed the handsome face of the killer, which usually seemed carved in the fixity of a stone. This desire to console someone, to try to take away his suffering, was a relatively new sensation. And, for that reason, very interesting.  
He was happy that Hikaru was not dead, and he was pleased that he felt such interest in him; usually he was bored to death.  
"What are you going to do with me?" Hikaru asked, pointing his golden eyes on the man.

"Protect you from Suzuki, who is about to arrive, and keep you here this evening while I'm going to enjoy the end of the show that has the main characters of the Merchant and Asami. Obviously, what will become of you afterwards will depend only on you, but I am convinced that you are not going to disappoint me," said the older man, pulling out two pairs of handcuffs from the back pockets of his trousers.  
Hikaru gritted his teeth, his gaze glued to the two metal objects and to the obscure threat that they brought.  
The older man seized Hikaru right wrist, and he felt him shudder.  
Marcel turned his head toward the younger man and met his fearful eyes, while the amber scent from his coat permeated his nostrils  
"You are very _fair_," Marcel said, coming closer to him.

The Merchant was sitting on the sofa in the living room in Marcel's house, and was mindlessly leafing through a book. The mercenary entered the room and closed the door behind him, and waited in silence.  
"And so, I can see that you are reading Moby Dick," said Suzuki, and Marcel certainly did not fail to capture a slight hint of irony in the Merchant's words.  
"Yes sir, just as you suggested," he said.  
"Evidently, even you occasionally have a few rare flashes of intelligence."  
Marcel nodded, while his eyes looked upon the man sitting in front of him, who was intent in reading some random pages in the book.  
The Merchant had always said disparaging words to him, while looking down upon him, and he seemed to be talking to him as a god, who, for pure generosity, allowed his benevolence to descend on a poor, churlish human.

The fact was that Marcel had done everything to support the idea that Suzuki had about him. The Merchant loved to feel superior, and Marcel knew that well, because he was always a man curious about the human soul, and that to exalt people like this was the best way to get from them everything you wanted. Suzuki had not ever considered him as a danger, but only a tool, and then he allowed himself to say to Marcel things that he would never have said to others.  
Simply, Suzuki thinks he is too stupid to create problems.  
Marcel had no problems in being considered that way, because he knew himself very well, and had enough self-worth to understand that this minor thing could not have any effect on him at all, even less to feel offended by it.

He would have continue this way for years, if his opinion for Suzuki would not have fallen, as it had.  
"Finally this evening I will be rid of Asami ..."  
Marcel caught Suzuki's words just in time. He was distracted and had missed most of the Merchant's speech. "I had that new bitch followed, you know, that boy who was at Club Sion yesterday with Asami. He had even bought a new suit for tonight's date with my beloved enemy. How sweet!"  
Marcel nodded. That evening the Merchant would have certainly had a bad surprise, and probably would not have come out alive from the house where Asami was supposed to have an appointment with the mythical "lover".  
Marcel had long suspected that this "date" was nothing but a trap set by Asami, but now that he knew that Hikaru was alive, the suspicion became a certainty. Asami knew that Hikaru had never committed suicide, then all he had done so far, namely the funeral, the mourning, the lack of prudence with which he acted with his new "flame" was nothing but a ploy made up specifically for the person who could have had an interest in killing Hikaru and making it look like a suicide on the sole purpose to hurt him. Namely Suzuki.  
This entire thing was so funny to Marcel.  
"... And so then I can start to rebuild my organization and to re-build the name of the Suzuki's in the underworld," concluded the Merchant, and Marcel nodded again, pretending that he had followed with interest what the other was saying.  
The Merchant went and got something to drink and Marcel laid back with his gaze on him.  
It was not necessary to have the eye of a specialist to understand that between Suzuki Ryushi and Asami Ryuichi there was a certain air of family. First, of course, were the eyes of the color of the honey, cold and distant even though ardent. Then, the volatile chin and the stocky physique.

Suzuki was nearly ten years older than Asami, but the age difference was more recognizable in the light dash of silver that illuminate the wisp of hair on the Merchant's forehead, rather than in wrinkles or anything like that.

While watching the man who he had admired for years, and aware of how simple it was for his consideration to weaken and disappear, Marcel felt something that could be defined as _sadness_.

However, Marcel was not very familiar with feelings, and so, he was not sure if that was what it was.

If only he had known how to define sentiments, perhaps he would have been able to understand what it was that he felt for the beautiful kid that he was protecting against every _principle of a good mercenary_. His father would not be very proud of him.

Akihito was sitting in the back seat of the limousine that ran on a road slightly uphill. During the phone call with Asami, he had given him his position and the Yakuza had told him where to meet, and not to make any deviations in their race toward the "White Sagiso Inc."  
The air in the car was full of tension, anger and withholding pain.  
Asami asked him to explain again what had happened, and FeiLong didn't say a word.

Akihito would have wanted to say something to him, but did not know what to say, he did not even know if Asami knew about the Chinese man and Hikaru's relation to him.  
Akihito had noticed that FeiLong, from time to time, was tightening his jaws and his beautiful amethyst eyes seemed feverish.  
He was afraid, afraid for Hikaru especially. Akihito wondered if Asami, when he came to find him in Hong Kong, would have also had the same look.

The photographer turned his eyes on the Yakuza.  
No. Probably Asami had maintained an air of control, as now.

And just as now, he probably just hid what he was feeling.  
"_Stupid, stupid brat!_" Akihito thought, while the car slowed down, and then stopped.  
"From here on, FeiLong and I will continue by foot," said Asami, with a flat voice.  
"But... but you will not wait for the reinforcements?" Akihito asked, feeling a knot tighten in his throat; Asami and FeiLong intended to enter the lair of the wolf alone?  
"They cannot be here in a quarter of an hour, or even in twenty minutes, and we cannot waste any more time!" FeiLong said instead of the older man, while moving back the carriage of his gun and arming the cock. His voice betrayed the urgency and the pain that he was feeling, while his eyes shone with a cruel violet light.  
Akihito shuddered and FeiLong was not afraid to hide his feelings, plus, he was as dangerous as a lioness that saw her cub in danger.  
"Akihito?" Asami claimed his attention.  
"Y...yes?"  
"When we get out of the car, come sit in the driver's seat, and keep the engine running. Close in and be ready to go at any time. The car has a bulletproof body and glass, so, if you'll remain inside here, you will be safe. If you see Hikaru coming, also without us, let him come inside and go away immediately. Don't wait for us, understand? My men will arrive soon to help us. If you see someone you do not know coming, go away immediately. If none of us come back before my men arrive, do not hesitate, just go away. I did give an order to Kirishima to wait here for Hikaru, but then you'll need to only think about getting back safely to the villa by the sea. Got it all?"  
Akihito nodded, swallowing, as he felt his hands tremble.  
"Do you understand everything? Answer!" Asami insisted.  
"Yes."  
"Well...," he said. Not even a minute after the Yakuza and FeiLong had disappeared behind the curve, Akihito got into the driver's seat.  
He had to wait, he had to wait with his heart in his mouth, wait and pray that the man he loved, and his friends, would come back alive.  
He was scared.

***  
The events precipitated quickly.  
Marcel had noticed a shadow crawling through the bushes through one of the cameras positioned around the perimeter of the garden centre.  
Marcel suspected that Asami was probably looking for him; Hikaru was alive and so the funeral and mourning were certainly a trick that Asami used for taking the time to find Suzuki and his acolytes, while they could not have any suspicion at this time.

The pianist seemed to have arrived at the "_White Sagiso Inc_." alone, without Asami's approval, but this did not necessarily means that the Yakuza would not be able to find him, too.  
This was a guess, not a certainty, but there was no time to waste in verifying it.  
The mercenary had asked the Merchant to flee through a tunnel dug under the garden, which, according to Marcel, would come out a few meters from a secondary exit of the yard, up to the hill.  
This care for his "employer" was mainly because the mercenary would not make Asami's task too easy, since that would ruin Marcel's fun.  
The Yakuza, most likely, had arrived at his house supported by many men and this would be contrary to its purpose, namely to see a direct comparison between the two old enemies.  
But he did not want to make things too easy for Suzuki, as well.  
When Suzuki took the tunnel, Marcel came back in the storage room where he had locked Hikaru.  
The boy was tied up in the bed with the two pairs of handcuffs: his left wrist chained to the headboard of the bed and the right ankle at the footboard.  
Seeing the door opening, Hikaru felt his heartbeat quickening, but he did not have any intention to let the fear he was feeling show through his gestures, so he tried to be calm, also if he was not able to understand the behavior of the mercenary. According to what Marcel had said, he tied him in ordered to prevent the pianist from doing something stupid while Suzuki was there. Did this mean that the mercenary was trying to protect him?

"I'm sorry, but I must go now," said the older man, approaching the boy. "I think that your step-father is coming to save you, and I suppose you will understand that it is not very prudent for me to let him find me," he continued, in colloquial tone.  
Marcel took out from his back pocket a small-calibre gun and a loader.

Hikaru widened his eyes, moving back instinctively to the headboard of the bed, yet, if the boy was going to successfully hide his fear, he also needed to stop his soft full lips from quivering, which seemed to be somewhat of a failure at this point..

Marcel's eyes softened at the sight. "Excuse me, I was not out to scare you," he said, "look..., I will lay the gun on this chair ...," the man continued, bending to put the weapon on the stool in the middle of the room.

Then he took from his pocket something else and laid it beside the gun.  
They were two small keys, and Hikaru understood immediately that they were the keys for the handcuffs that kept him tied to the bed.  
"I'm sure that you will be able to remove the handcuffs from the headboard and footboard of the bed. Now that you don't have to be careful and not make any noise, you will find that it is not too difficult to tear them from the bed with a few good tugs." The man then turned and headed toward the door. He opened it and then set his gaze, once again, upon the boy, who was looking at him in disbelief. "Now it's up to you to decide: you can stay here until everything is _finished_, waiting for your saviors to come and rescue you, as every authentic damsel in distress should do, or you can remove the handcuffs from your ankle and wrist, take the gun and come out. The choice is up to you, although I am quite sure about what you will do. The gun that I have put here is light, the one you have with you was too heavy and you would not be able to handle it well. However, you can _use_ this one easily. Now I have to go, because I do not want to miss _the grand finale,_" the man concluded, smiling at the boy with a disconcerting sweetness.

Asami and FeiLong proceeded with caution.  
In a normal situation, it would be absolutely unacceptable to decide to penetrate the enemy's territory in that way, especially without knowing the ground where you had to move, without knowing the number of potential enemies and without any idea about what their capabilities and their availabilities are.  
This was out of any _war_ logic, and the risks were too high compared to the possible successful conclusion of the action. Endanger the heads of two organizations to recover only one man, who was probably already dead… what foolishness!

Only a few months before, Asami would not have ever thought of being able to make such nonsense of this sort.  
Those were his thoughts while, with the gun in his hand, he moved in the shelter of the various lentisk's bushes that adorned the garden. Instead, it was the second time he had done something "stupid" lately, all for the two brats' fault!  
"Asami ...," FeiLong's voice made the Yakuza turn his face to the Chinese man, who, with a hint of his eyes, made him to look upward.  
Through a hole in the ground, far from them and well hidden by a thick bush, appeared the silhouette of a man, who Asami recognized as Suzuki Ryushi.  
The eyes of the Yakuza reduced to two dark pools.  
Suzuki had never been so close, so close that he could almost smell his scent.  
That war was about to an end; they had faced each other several times in those years, Suzuki and him, because they had inherited the hatred of those who came before them. And they had faced taking away from each other what they loved the most, to make that hatred become _more real_, to make it to become _inevitable_. For years, they had continued to strike each other and every time it seemed as though it had ended, but each time, in the end, it had not.  
"_But this time it will be - Fate, Destiny, even the Gods don't have to deceive themselves, because they will not be able to stop this duel ... whatever happens, whoever goes between them, Suzuki will not die before I kill him, and I cannot die before I do what I have to."  
_"FeiLong, Suzuki is alone. Hikaru is not with him. We have to separate, and if _my son_ is alive, go and save him," said the Yakuza, and without turning his head, he moved toward his target.  
FeiLong looked for a moment at the back of the older man while he moved away. This was Asami's war, and he let him go without a reply.  
And now, Asami was not his priority.  
Asami was no longer his priority ever since the first day that Hikaru became his.  
He turned and began to approach with caution towards the house. Hikaru was probably there.  
After a few meters, he stopped, and his predator's senses were alerted.  
He could not hear the slightest noise nearby, and that was strange: neither the crickets, nor the chirping of the birds that should be well audible in springtime.

A wheezing behind him made the Chinese man turn.

He had just enough time to let go of his gun, when it was hit by a dagger. If he would have held on to it, the least that could have happen was for him to have injured his wrist.  
In front of him now was a tall and rugged man, whose dark-golden hair contrasted with his deep almond-shaped black eyes. He had a pistol in his right hand.  
"Liu FeiLong ...," Marcel said, recognizing the Triad leader.  
"Who the hell are you?" FeiLong asked, in a freezing tone. "Get out of my way."  
The nostrils of the stranger quivered for few seconds, "You have the same grey amber scent that the boy had on him ...," said Marcel, regardless of the words spoken by his opponent.

"What have you done to Hikaru?" FeiLong's expression was nothing more than the one of a few seconds before, because it was the one of a demon being chased away from Hell, and his body assumed an unnatural tension: the strength and the acuteness of a wild beast ready to strike.  
"It has been such a long time since I have enjoyed myself so much," said Marcel, and he was referring to the fact that he had the possibility to watch the interesting duel between Asami and Suzuki, and at the same time, the possibility of facing the skilled man that was standing in front of him.

However, FeiLong interpreted Marcel's statement as an answer to his question.  
With an incredible concentration of agility, grace and strength, the Triad leader attacked the mercenary. A kick made the gun fall out of the hand of his opponent.  
Marcel, however, was an excellent soldier, not only a formidable hit man, and so he was prepared to face him in hand-to-hand combat, and to expect every thing from his opponent. He folded his legs and put his arms in a defensive position.

The mercenary had a small advantage: he knew what Liu FeiLong was capable of, while the Chinese man had no idea who he was, and what he is able to do.  
Marcel smiled with satisfaction; he was taller and sturdier then FeiLong, but the feeling of the threat that he was perceiving from his opponent was reduced to zero due to his physical advantage.

This would be a worthy fight.  
Then, he understood from where the fury that suddenly laid hold of the Triad leaders derived from, there must be something between him and the boy._ Sentiments ... _  
"_For people like me, sentiments are just an obstacle_," the mercenary thought, "_but for those like him it is like adding fuel to the fire..."_  
Marcel did not attack, his eyes glued to his opponent's and his ears strained to the noises around them: if the reinforcements for FeiLong would arrive, or if Asami and Suzuki would started their confrontation without him, he would have missed all of the show.  
FeiLong moved to the left, and Marcel to the right, so that there would always be the same distance between him and the Chinese man.

Something moved among the leaves, maybe a bird, and the Triad Leader seemed to divert his attention from him. The mercenary attacked, but even before that, there was minimal contact, and he realized that it was only a tactic in order to strike back.  
Marcel threw a series of _atemi_*, which were systematically fended off by FeiLong with the outside of his arms.  
"_He is a Wing Tsun** expert, damn_!" That was the most suitable technique to overwhelm him, unfortunately.

He tried with other fast blows with his arms and legs, and FeiLong did not try to fend them off or attempt to divert the blows, but he simply dodged them, and avoided being himself a support for the mercenary's reaction.  
Marcel began to grow tired, while the Triad leaders had wasted only a little energy.  
The mercenary smirked. Normally, his physique was an effective weapon, but the Kung Fu technique that FeiLong had chosen, was exactly the one that could take advantage of the physical superiority of his opponent and turn it into a handicap for him.  
Suddenly, they heard something like a gun shot.  
"Asami ...," FeiLong whispered, clenched his teeth, and he got ready to attack.  
Marcel made a grimace of disappointment. If he wanted to enjoy the confrontation between Asami and Suzuki, he had to get rid of FeiLong, even using not so _honorable_ methods.

Akihito moved in the garden, guarded by Kirishima and Yoh, while Suoh preceded them with three other men.  
When the reinforcements arrived, the photographer was already out of the limousine and was running towards the house.

Kirishima tried to catch up to him, but the photographer had already entered the garden surrounding the house.  
_Akihito had tried_.

He had tried to do what Asami had ordered, he tried to wait, but the anguish had become unbearable. It had become desperation and, despite his good sense crying to him to remain in the car, he was not able to listen to it. The fear that Asami could be wounded or even killed had become terror.  
"_I will never see him again, I will never see him again, I will never see him again… never again_" this was the mantra that poisoned his soul. It was as a blade that cut out any apprehension for his own life; he _had_ to go to Asami, beyond every logic, beyond every fear.  
Kirishima could not help but take him with them, after all, FeiLong men had checked most of the "_White Sagiso Inc.'s" _property, and they were not able to find any enemies for now.  
The group that preceded Kirishima was keeping themselves on the right of the house, while Baishe's men had bypassed the building on the other side.

Kirishima's group had just passed the secondary exit of the house, when a rustle caused a _load_ of firearms to aim at its origin.  
"FeiLong-sama?" Yoh whispered, frowning.  
"He is not here ...," said the Triad Leader.  
"FeiLong! But... what's happened...?" Akihito laid a hand on his chest, noticing a large dark stain on the sleeve of the Triad leader's silk cheongsam.

The stain continued on the right hand in dark drops, now almost dry. _Clotted blood._  
"This is nothing, Akihito," he said with a gentle voice, smiling to the boy. "Don't waste any time on it!" He then said, with a stentorian voice, to his men, "I checked the inside of the house and there is neither people, nor signs of any violence," and he pronounced those last words with a mixture of anxiety and hope. Maybe Hikaru was fine, maybe he had not yet arrived there, considering that he had to walk by foot from the subway station.  
"Furthermore, about ten minutes ago I heard a shot, and I think Suzuki and Asami were facing each other…"  
Chasing away with an annoyed gesture someone who was trying to check his wound, FeiLong moved toward the origin of the shot.  
The others followed him in silence. Akihito noted that the men, every one of them, including Asami's, were more resolute now that FeiLong was directing them.

Even he, despite the fear for Asami's destiny, was feeling a little relieved.  
"Don't worry, Akihito. You can't kill weeds…," FeiLong's voice made him jump. But then, Akihito nodded.

The Triad started to move again. The wound on his right forearm was only a slight flesh wound, which he had somehow bandaged with a piece of fabric ripped from his cheongsam.  
At some point, _the bastard he had fought against, had pulled a tiny gun out of his sleeve, and he had just enough time to slightly_ _move __to the left, so that the bullet had just grazed him. _

_He felt almost no pain, and had flung himself on his opponent. After a short fight, FeiLong was able to grasp the weapon in the other man's hand, and it shot-off by accident. The man remained on the ground, motionless. FeiLong did not check to see if he was dead or not, he had just taken the gun and moved toward the house. _

_Somewhere, far in the huge garden, he heard some other shots, but he had to find Hikaru; he had to know... he had to know how the boy was, he had to see him, also if... But the house was empty, no sign of a struggle, no sign of violence. Hikaru was alive, he must be alive, maybe as Suzuki's hostage, or perhaps he had never arrived there, but **he had** to be alive!  
_With this hope, or illusion, in his heart, FeiLong headed to where Suzuki, and Asami, probably were.

Asami was standing in a small a patch of grass, something like a natural terrace on the side of the hill that was part of the garden of the "_White Sagiso Inc_". Around the clearing, there were some sparse trees and low bushes, and some areas where the brambles were thick. Far from him, at about 150 meters, there was the secondary exit of the garden center. Between him and the exit, there was Suzuki Ryushi, the Merchant.  
Beyond the exit, there was the rest of the world.  
Asami had brought the gun in line with his eyes, keeping it between his two hands, and framing the figure in front of him in his sights. Suzuki was doing exactly the same thing.  
What appeared to FeiLong, Akihito and the other's sight, when they arrived, was as though they seemed to be almost an image and its reflection in a mirror.  
Asami and Suzuki.  
"Don't dare to interfere!" Asami shouted, without moving his gaze from his enemy, noticing their arrival.  
Feilong frowned. Unfortunately, Asami stood between them and Suzuki, otherwise, no matter what Asami could say, he would have shot him.  
"Don't deceive yourself, Suzuki! Even if you kill me, do you think you can escape? You will not come out alive from here... you've been had!" Asami's voice was calm and cold, while his eyes were on the eyes of his enemy.  
"It should not be so bad to go to Hell if there will be you to pave the way, _Ryuichi-kun_," replied the other, stressing that _kun_ in an ironic way.  
Akihito looked that man in the eyes, and shuddered. They were the eyes of someone who had said farewell to the world and whose only purpose was to bring Asami with him.  
"...You know, all those fine words about rebuilding the clan Suzuki, re-gaining the respect of the Underworld, defeating your organization that had annihilated my family years ago ... well, they were just nonsense! Do you think I would have been credible if I said that my sole purpose was to hurt you, humiliate you and then kill you? Do you think those who have supported me, betraying you, my dear, would have done it if I had not promised them substantial profits from future alliances, although in reality I had in mind no other project than your death? Shit! I just wanted to see you dead, and then I could die myself. Well, perhaps it is precisely what will happen today ... maybe you'll be the loser in the end, _Ryuichi-kun_." Exaltation and madness burned in his liquid gold eyes.  
Asami tighten his jaw.

_Damn, damn! that was a deadlock_...  
Suzuki was emotionally unstable, Asami had to rely on this, he had to distract him.  
"You are a poor brain-dead, _Ryushi-san,_" he said, apting to use the way the other referred to him, "... a loser, like all the rest of your family. The only thing you've been able to do against the Asami's was to rape a young girl, who was not even an Asami, and then kill her after few years, only to hurt me... so pathetic ...," the Yakuza said, putting into his words as much disgust as he could, and forcing himself to not give in to the fury he felt spreading in every cell of his body.  
"To hurt you? You? As usual, you're just going on an ego trip, Ryuichi-kun. The violence on Himeko was only the execution of an order of the Head of my family, something that should not surprise a Yakuza like you. It was a _war action_. And I didn't enjoy it. The one who rapes people for fun, here, is you, don't get confused, Ryuichi. And then, I killed Himeko because I wanted _her_ to die. Once again, you have nothing to do with anything. I wanted my son."  
Asami widened his eyes, "Your son? You hired a killer to kill your son, did you forget?"  
"But obviously he didn't do what we had to do. If you know what is really going on, this means that Hikaru is still alive...," the Merchant said, his eyes now reduced to two dark slits. "Yes, I wanted my son. Your father made him disappear at his birth, he had hidden him somewhere. I have tried for years to find him. He was a Suzuki, do you understand? _He was mine_. Not yours, not of your damned family, but mine. **_Mine_**! Himeko, in the end, managed to find him, and who knows what she would have said against me. I had to stop her, and I did. But that damn bitch managed to ask you to keep him away from me, you damned progeny!"  
Akihito felt a pang in his heart. Was that the man they were looking for?  
That untraceable, cunning and clever man who had built an empire from the nothing he became after Asami's revenge, was him? The man in whose eyes there was now nothing, no hate, no remorse, no fear.  
Nothing.  
What they all had mistaken for shrewdness, was only despair. And madness. The driving force of Suzuki was the madness. He killed Himeko for his son, and not only could he not get him, but he had pushed Asami to avenge. A scientific, cold massacre, as the old reporter had said to him. Suzuki had sentenced his family to death.  
"You are crazy ...," said Asami, in a voice cold and contemptuous, looking at him with a mixture of disgust and indifference.  
"... I wanted my son...," Suzuki was now a river in flood, and was about to give up.  
"He is near to losing it...," Asami thought, while a pleased grin blossomed on his face.

"...I wanted my son, but you have taken him for yourself, and you've dirtied him. You have made brainwashed him, you've touched him and you have dragged him into your lechery." A grimace of disgust was born on Suzuki's face, "... and I know why you did this. You've fucked my son for years just to make an offence to the Suzuki's, just to continue your father's favorite work. Admit it. Admit that what I just said was the truth."  
"That's not true! Right, Ryuichi-san? That is not true!"  
"Hikaru ...," FeiLong's voice was light as a breath when he whispered the name of the boy who had just appeared out of the tunnel.  
Neither Asami, nor Suzuki moved their eyes from each other, but the Yakuza noticed that the appearance of the _restored to life_ Hikaru, was a further blow to the fragile rationality of Suzuki.

Asami prepared himself to give an end to that farce, then he continued to keep going at him.  
"Are you so weak Ryushi, that you're blaming me for all _your _mistakes. You have built a beautiful story for discharging your conscience, but all this is your fault. "  
Asami thought to be close to his aim, but he had to make an effort to dominate his disappointment when Hikaru positioned himself in the line-of-fire , just between him and Suzuki.  
"This is not true ...," said the boy again, and Asami could hear the tears in the sound of his cracked voice.  
FeiLong tightened strongly on to the gun in his hand. Suzuki was concentrating on Hikaru, maybe he could move the minimum that was sufficient to frame the Merchant in his sights and shoot him. Otherwise, that bastard would kill Hikaru, and this could not happen. This could not happen.  
Otherwise, he would become mad. If he could see again someone who he loved die in front of his eyes, he would become mad. Someone he _loved._  
"Yes, it is true. You know that he has never ever loved you, he just enjoyed himself in muddying you. I hoped that this would not ruin you forever. That's why I sold "flowers", I wanted to see if any one of them could get out from that rot still clean and uncorrupted. But none of them succeeded. You cannot get out clean, sane... and so I have to kill you. You understand, right? It's all Asami's fault...," Suzuki had now lost all contact with reality.  
The shell of indifference, force and arrogance that he built in recent years, collapsed in front of the truth.  
The Merchant pointed the gun straight toward Hikaru's heart.  
The boy lowered his gaze on the weapon in disbelief, and then raised them on the Merchant.  
And Suzuki saw two pure eyes looking in his own.  
"Father ..."  
Hearing the voice of Hikaru call him father, made him waver and it was as if everything was starting to turn around, so he tightened his hands on the gun and staggered slightly to the right.  
**BANG!**

Hikaru felt a hot and sticky liquid dripping on his cheeks and neck, and then collapsed to the ground, because his legs seemed to have no more strength.  
He heard Akihito shouting Asami's name, and heard him running.  
He shook his head and batted his eyelids several times ... and then he saw him, he saw the body of a man on the ground, like an abandoned rag doll, and long red trails, like petals of a flower, which branches off on the ground behind his head. That man was Suzuki Ryushi, his father. And the one who had killed him was Asami Ryuichi, _his father_.  
Two desert eyes seemed to watch him from the threshold of the death, two golden eyes that were becoming two pieces of opaque glass.  
Hikaru lengthened his hand and closed pitifully the man's eyelids.  
Then he rose and turned away.  
Akihito was hiding his face on Asami's chest, trying to fight back the tears, while the Yakuza caressed his hair. There was a sweetness in that image that, compared with the smell of blood that flooded to his nostrils, made a wave of nausea rise in Hikaru's throat. The boy surpassed Asami and Akihito. He heard the voice of the photographer calling his name, but he did not turn. He headed towards FeiLong.  
He let his eyes wander on the undefeated beauty of the man's face, and then dropped his eyes and stopped on the carelessly bandaged wound, on the stain of blood and also on the fresh blood that was staining the bandage. Hikaru lengthened his hand and caressed the wounded arm, and whispered, "Sorry Liu-sama ... I am sorry for everything..," and FeiLong understood that what he wanted to say was: I am sorry for your wound, sorry for coming here, sorry… sorry to exist.  
FeiLong would have wanted to embrace him, to caress him, to console him, to dry the tears that had begun to fall and mix with Suzuki's blood on his face.  
But he did not.

He knew perfectly that sometimes an embrace seemed to be an accusation of weakness, that sometimes a word of comfort seemed to be a word of pity.  
"Thanks …," said Hikaru, in fact, and moved towards the exit.  
Akihito was about to run to the pianist, but Asami had taken him by the arm.  
The photographer looked at him, looked at the gold eyes and at the dark shadow that the sunset was drawing on his eyelids. Then he watched the gun in his hands.  
The photographer turned his gaze on FeiLong, on his beautiful lips firmly closed, and on his long eyelashes, falling to shield his eyes from the world.  
Then he looked to Hikaru's back while he moved away, weighed down by the doubt, and the red of his hair burnt by the dying sun. Suddenly Akihito felt so tired.  
The sun went down behind the hills, and the world beyond the fence of that garden continued to live as if nothing had happened.  
A violet haze began to rise from the ground, and confusing with the thoughts of four men ...  
One was thinking that maybe you could not consider a nightmare finished if you was the one that help to generate it.  
Another was thinking that the truth about yourself is possible to be known only in desperation, and that it is a truth that feeds itself of its own humiliation.  
One was thinking that maybe he was not strong enough to make his love resist the horror of a world he can't be a part of.  
Another was thinking that, also if you try to fight it, Fate would never be a flight, but only a chain.  
And then night went down.

_TO BE CONTINUED... stay tuned for the Epilogue!_

**__**

* atemi = In martial arts, the term designates blows to the body.

** wing tsun = is a branch of the Chinese martial arts 


	23. Epilogue Te o Torriatte

**Epilogue**

..::**手をとりあって ****::..**

Akihito looked outside the window with his face resting on the palm of his left hand.

He was crouched against the door of the limousine, his elbow on the armrest, his right hand between his knees.

There was an unnatural silence inside the car: Kirishima was at the wheel, as always quiet and efficient, while Asami was sitting in the back seat next to the photographer. However, ever so far from him.

Akihito followed the drops of rain, which had begun to fall thick and quiet, laying on the glass and then joining one another to form a little stream of water that stretched on the smooth surface of the window and then slipped away and splitted again.

And in the reflection of the window, there was Asami.

The older man had his gaze down on some papers that he was leafing with interest.

The beautiful full lips were slightly opened up by the cigarette poised between them, and the eyelashes were deliciously curved and shadowed those golden eyes, eyes capable of making you shiver with pleasure or fear, with a barely a perceptible glance. Asami's beauty, so manly and ancestral ... at that moment it hurt so much!

But how could someone be so calm after having stuck a bullet into someone's head?

How could someone be so calm?

Akihito raised his right hand to his face, and laid it on his lips, closing his eyes. He did not understand. He did not understand Asami ... but damn, he loved him irreparably!

"I think I will come back ..."

Asami was sitting on the top of his desk, the long muscular legs were overlapped, while the cloud of smoke of the cigarette, tightened between two fingers of his right hand, was dissolving in the air.

The Yakuza narrowed his eyes, to focus on the boy better, moistening his lips.

Hikaru was standing before him. He had a tired expression, as if the weight of his whole life was weighing upon his shoulders. A light dark shade was drawn under his eyes.

"What does that "_come back_" mean?" asked the Yakuza.

"I think I'm coming back to those days when I was still able to understand what the truth was..."

"I've never lied to you, Hikaru."

"No, you haven't, you have never spared me the truth, including the painful ones, first and foremost the fact that you had never returned my love. That's why, among the things that my father said ..."

"He has never been your father." Asami interrupted him, crushing the cigarette butt into the onyx ashtray, with his usual calm tone, from which, nevertheless, transpired a bitter aftertaste.

"Now he is no longer anything, you have killed him," said Hikaru, without recrimination or irony. A simple observation.

"Exactly," said the older man with flat tone.

"But _that man_ gave an abominable explanation of why you chose me as your ... well, whatever I would have been for you. Not that now this could change something, but you have not said a word against his accusations."

"I'm not used to justifying myself for sins I do not feel guilty for, Hikaru. I give enough credit to your intelligence to think that it is not necessary to say explicitly that those were only nonsense."

Hikaru sighed: "There are things that must be said, Ryuichi-san, even if you think that they are obvious. You cannot always expect that people around you know how to read in your silences, in your absences. You cannot always expect them to have the strength to do that."

Asami looked at him in silence for seconds, minutes.

"Ryuichi-san ... I'm going," Hikaru said then, and approaching the older man, he took off his platinum ring, which shone of cold flashes under the neon.

He took Asami's right hand and laid it in his palm.

"The fact that you have returned the ring to me has no meaning, Hikaru. You are mine."

"Maybe, but with my conditions ...," the pianist said.

Asami looked into the boy's eyes, before he would turn and go toward the door.

On his shirt, there were still the dark stains of Suzuki's blood, and into his eyes, a new determination. Also, the meaning of that _'I'm going'_ was perfectly clear.

A pleased grin was born on Asami's face. He had always appreciated Hikaru's nerve.

When he reached the door, the pianist turned back to the Yakuza.

"Somehow, I think I will always love you, _father_."

"I know."

Hikaru smiled. Then he closed the door behind him.

"You better not be so confident, _my son_ ..."

In the waiting room next to Asami's office, Akihito was sitting on an armchair and sipped the boiling tea trying to warm himself, but without success. It was not the cold of the room that gave him that sense of unease, it was a cold that seemed to come from within.

No one could get used to seeing a man dying, not in that way, and he could not get use to living with the fear that the next time _that _could happen to the one he loved. Maybe he was wrong and could not get used to _that world_.

Akihito lifted his eyes from his thoughts reflected in the amber liquid he held in his hands, and saw Hikaru's silhouette out in the corridor. The photographer rose from the armchair and called him.

The pianist turned his head and looked at him with an interrogative air, as if he didn't recognize him, but after a few seconds, the pianist give him a forced smile.

Akihito went up to him with a worried expression painted on his face.

"Excuse me, I was a little distracted," Hikaru said, slightly tilting his head to the left.

The light that shone in Akihito's hazel eyes, which were watching him in apprehension, was really heart-warming. Hikaru smiled, this time it was a real, timid smile.

"How are you?" Asked the photographer, almost whispering.

The other boy took Akihito's hand in his owns and replied, "Akihito, please, can you ask me this question tomorrow?"

The photographer seemed embarrassed, and his eyes, avoiding the pianist's, went on the window that separated them from the dark of the night, and Hikaru followed Akihito's gaze toward the city lights.

They remained this way for a little while, until Hikaru let go the other's hand.

"Were you talking with Asami?" the photographer asked then.

"Yes, but now he is looking for you..."

"He asked for me?" Akihito said, slightly amazed that Asami had sent Hikaru to find him, rather than one of his men. Until now, the photographer had always had the impression that Asami would prefer to limit his personal relations with Hikaru to the minimum.

"He never asked, but I know it's this way...," said the other, giving Akihito one of his melting smiles.

The photographer blushed slightly, lowering his gaze.

"Where are you going now, Hikaru?" he asked then.

"I'm going back ...," the pianist whispered.

Akihito was now sitting in Asami's office, accommodated on a leather love seat that occupied the corner of the room that was the farthest from the entry door. Oversized and thick, the love seat was decorated with a curving wood trim across the front. With its rounded back and leather surface, the sofa gave to Akihito the feeling of being in an old Cigar Bar.  
The Yakuza was sitting behind his desk, busy in organizing the work for the next day.  
As if nothing had happened.  
However, Akihito could not concentrate on anything other than the ring that was casually left on the coffee table beside the sofa.  
The movement of the hand that held the cigarette, while the Yakuza's other hand was fixed in signing some documents, made the other ring shine from time to time.  
Akihito thought, with a touch of bitterness, that although apparently Hikaru had left his ring there, Asami did not intend to take off his.  
"You know very well what kind of effect your fearful fawn gaze has on me, don't you, Akihito?"  
The photographer wince.  
When the hell had Asami moved from the desk to sit beside him on the love seat?  
"Asami..."  
"My life is not always this way, Akihito ... but often it is."  
The photographer blushed slightly and turned his gaze elsewhere. It should not be difficult for Asami to realize that recent events had shocked him almost as well as those that had happened just over a month before in Hong Kong.  
"Well, I do not believe to be the only one who is upset, here ... Hikaru has even returned his ring to you!" said the boy, trying to give a half joking tone to his words.  
"Exactly. I suppose this ring is cursed. Two people have worn it and one of them is dead, and Hikaru has risked his life twice after having worn it."  
Akihito opened his eyes, turning his face toward Asami.  
"Two people?"

"Yes... it's a family ring," said the Yakuza, with a bitter smile.

The photographer swallowed, lowering his gaze.

"Are you afraid, Akihito?"  
"Yes," said the boy, "but not about what you think ... I'm not scared for my life, I fear... I fear that this damned world would divide us... I fear... I... I do not want to lose you, Asami ...," Akihito said in the end, all in one go, blushing violently and with his eye filled with tears.

"You should have more confidence in my resources, my kawaii Akihito," said the Yakuza in a mocking tone, with the trademark smile shining on his handsome face, and then he gently seized the boy's chin with his right hand, forcing him to turn his face towards him,

"I've already told you to not look at me this way...," Asami said, capturing his lips into a sweet and possessive kiss.  
Akihito's first instinct was to wriggle, but then it was his own desire to declare his capitulation: the heat of that body over his, the power and the lust that it released, made the photographer feel like something exploded in the center of his groin to expand all over his body, leaving to the instinct the full control. Their lips continued to devour each other, tasting one another, to join and then deepening their contact, freeing in that kiss a burning passion, while Asami's long and strong fingers caressed that silky skin, slightly wet by the sweat, arousing it at its touch.

Their mouths parted, and Akihito welcomed with a groan the descent of Asami's lips down to his neck, while the older man tasted, licked and bit him.

The boy's breathing grew heavier, turning on the senses, and Asami continued to kiss, lick, bite and suck down to the chest to reach the nipples, making Akihito moan with more strength.

The Yakuza's hands began to be more and more bolder, going to touch the sensitive part of the inner thighs of the boy, which were opened docilely to welcome his touch.

In the silence of the room, the only sound that could be heard was Akihito's pleading voice, as a murmur that was rising up, groaning and calling Asami's name as a prayer. And Asami granted the photographer's wish: with his full and dissolute lips, he slowly descended to the erect and quivering manhood of the boy and laid a kiss on the tip of his member, causing a howl of pleasure to escape from Akihito's lips, and then he raised his gaze to meet the half-closed eyes of the boy, smirking. Without averting his gaze from the other's, he began to pass his tongue throughout the length, slowly, along every inch. Akihito's body trembled in the rapture of the pleasure, but he wanted more, and the Yakuza was very delighted to meet his desires. He entered him with a nerve-racking slowness until, after moments that seemed hours to Akihito, Asami began to move, and everything became deep, hot and uncontrollable, and there was no more rationality, only emotions and senses; a brutal tango, and a crazy beat of the heart, until everything exploded.

Akihito eyelids batted a couple of times, and he tried to recollect his thoughts, that brought him slowly back to reality.  
He was still crouched on the love seat, covered by Asami's expensive coat.  
The boy seemed to remember that the Yakuza had whispered to him, when he was still half-asleep, that he had to go down to Club Sion to resolve a _problem_. He stretched lazily, and while lengthening his arms, his finger went on to touch an object lying on the coffee table.  
It was an envelope made with expensive paper, with his name on it.  
With a slightly trembling hand, the boy opened it. Inside there was only a key. Akihito felt the tears sting his eyes, but this time there was no pain or fear.  
That was the key for Asami's penthouse. That was the key _for him_.

The light that was entering the sliding door of the small veranda cut the room in two: light and dark.  
In that late spring's sunset, the sun, which seemed to drip slowly into the deep red sea like a huge golden pearl that was dissolving in a glass of wine, projected long shadows on the world.  
The house was small but polished, and laid on the side of a low hill, not far from the extreme outskirts of the city.  
In front of the house, a little plot of land, a tiny garden, and in the distance, the sea.  
And it was something from which you cannot escape. The sea.  
Or at least the man who was standing there, with his hands supported on the railing of the small terrace overlooking the garden, wrapped into a light yukata, would not escape.  
Because the sea did not need an explanation, or an apology, or piety, or interpretations.  
The sea _was_.  
And that was terribly comforting.  
Combing with the tapered fingers the hair that was still wet after his shower, Hikaru thought that in a million places around the world there would probably be houses like that.  
Or rather, you could run all over the world and you would probably find that house everywhere.  
The same view, the same scent, the same silence, the same colors, the same loneliness.  
But this one was special. This was his _home_.  
He was finally back home, the house of his childhood, the only place where he could expect to really understand who he was. And who he would not be anymore. And who he would become.  
Since the day of Suzuki's death, a week had almost passed, and it was also almost a week since the last time he had met with FeiLong.  
He had asked the Chinese man for a little time, as well. Time to go back.

Now it was evening.  
The pianist felt a slight rustle behind him, but he did not move.  
"Hikaru ...?"  
The moon was hanging in the sky as a white nail that gave too faint a light to be able to illuminate the night, and the sea was only a long and languid noise beyond the darkness.  
"Hikaru ...," a voice like velvet.  
The wind that blows from the north was fresh and penetrating. The boy shuddereds, but it was not because of the wind. He did not turn around.  
"I was afraid that it was only my imagination. I had already smelled your scent, but I have felt it so often these days. And each time, when I turned, I was still alone," He said, turning slowly and gently laying his gaze on the man in front of him. The last yearning of fear that had housed until a few moments earlier in the boy's eyes flew away.  
FeiLong welcomed those eyes. That look was the caress of a mother and the blessing of a father, that was the thrill of the skin under the fingers of a lover. That look that payed him back for everything.

_And he understood, at that moment, that he would not have done what he had come back for._

Hikaru smiled. An invisible smile, only the corners of those beautiful coral lips moved slightly upward, while he approached FeiLong and get along, heading go to rely on the piano in the center of the tiny livingroom .

Hikaru could not know how the Heaven's angels were, but he certainly knew how the earth's angels were. He was just watching one of them.  
"_If you will stare to an angel then you will not forget him, and then you would die by nostalgia..."_  
it was in that room that his stepmother had told him that tale, but now it has become reality, and FeiLong was the _fever _that, during all that time, had not left him even for one moment.  
The light of the moon reflected on the silk's cheongsam and on its whiteness, the long dark hair that the older man let down stood out. Shiny as obsidian wet from the rain, and black as strands tore up from the dark weft of the night, they slipped along the elegant figure of the Chinese man and framed his face.  
"_I'll die of him_ ...," the pianist whispered, imperceptibly.  
"You asked me for some time, Hikaru ...," FeiLong said, approaching him and standing a few steps away from the boy. Now he was between FeiLong and the piano.  
Hikaru nodded and fixed his eyes, liquid gold floating in the darkness of night, on the dark ones of the older man.

"Yes, I asked you for time to think, but what I wanted was to give time to you ..."  
FeiLong frowned, astonished.  
"I made many mistakes, and because of which I feel ashamed: I stooped to compromise with my conscience to get what I wanted. Thanks to the amnesia, I was able to see all of my weaknesses paraded before my eyes as if it was the film of someone else's life, and therefore, the respect for myself has suffered a grievous blow ..." Hikaru lowered his gaze, biting his lower lip, then continued, "... coming back here, in _my_ house, I understand, however, that it was inevitable. I could do nothing but collect mistakes when I decided to follow my desire for Ryuichi-san, and not because it was self-destructive, or wrong, or amoral, but only because it was _false_. I wanted _Love_, and that was not. Only this made this entire drab story something wrong. I thought a lot these past few days, and when I stopped playing blindman's bluff with my fears, I was able to forgive myself. The mistakes I made were just _life_. The only life possible for people like me. There are people that have made of their every action a diamond: unbreakable, solid and tough: perfect. No false step. No defeat.

People like me do not have diamonds in their pockets, but blown-glass marbles. Fragile, imperfect, transparent. Along our lifetime, a lot of them break, and their fragments leave deep scars.

I thought that being away from me for a while, you would realize if you really ... if you could ...," but the boy had to stop.  
The question that would be dissolved by the question he was going to make would open before him the road to the ecstasy, or the road to the void.  
"If you could prefer a dirt-cheapglass marble to a diamond. I know you loved_him_, and I thought that you needed time away from me to understand if, instead of a strong and charismatic person as Ryuichi, you really can love someone so, well, so ..." Hikaru lowered his gaze and laid his back on the lid closing the piano keyboard. His head was crowded with adjectives, and they were all so humiliating ... how could he describe himself? He, who in front of the sentiments had no barrier, because he had always chosen not to have one, at the cost of suffering, at the cost of dying for this.  
Because of his way to '_feel_' he had made Asami his god, and he adored him despite knowing that his love would not be returned.  
"_But worshipping a god is much easier than loving a man_."  
And Hikaru could not be content with worshipping that wonderful man that now was standing in front of him, he wanted to love him, he wanted to have him, and he desperately wanted to be loved back. Otherwise, it was better to _die by nostalgia_.  
"Someone so ..."

"So brave?" FeiLong ended the sentence instead of him.  
Hikaru opened up his lips to replicate, but then closed them again, bending them in a weak smile.  
It was the second time that someone called his weakness "_courage_".

"Because of my stupidity, you were wounded," the boy said, simply.  
FeiLong made a step toward him, and the pianist smelled the other's perfume caressing his skin, even before the tip of the fingers of the older man would brush the inside of his wrists, before falling to stroke the palms of his hands.  
"In the little time that life has granted us to be together, Hikaru, I looked into these _crystal marbles_, and I adored what I saw ...," the older man raised his right hand to touch the pianist's cheek with its back.  
The boy skin seemed to burn with fever, and FeiLong heard with delight Hikaru's breath accelerate.  
And to think that the reason for which he came there that evening was to give his farewell to him.  
In those days of separation, FeiLong reached the conclusion that the best thing for Hikaru would have been to leave the world in which Asami and he lived in. The ranting and raving story of Suzuki hasn't left indifference, even to the Triad Leader.  
It was not a coincidence that the happiness of Hikaru had ended just when the putrid-ness of that world in which they moved in encountered the boy's life. Hikaru was generated because of that rot world but, paradoxically, the hand of a man who hated him took him away from it, while the hand of a woman who loved him, put him back in that world, five years ago. His task would have been to pull Hikaru away from that shit. That would mean to let him go.

But ...  
But it was exactly Hikaru that had taught him that the desires were a serious matter, and if you betray them, they would turn against you. His _desire_ was there, a few millimeters away from him, and he would not ever betray _this_desire.  
He could feel the warmth of his breath, feel the beat of his heart.  
And the taste of his lips, in that moment so pleasantly yielding against his.  
If he had been a heroic knight, he would have let him go, perhaps making him suffer, but solely in order to save his life.  
But he was not a hero, in very truth, he was a ruthless member of the Triad, he was Liu FeiLong, and he would take what he wanted, and he would protect him from all and everyone.  
The older man slid his hands along the hips of the boy, and then laid them firmly on his waist.

FeiLong welcomed with delight the thrill of that body in his arms, and the slight touch of those hands among his hair.  
The white curve of that delicate neck, while Hikaru let his head drop backward, was nothing but the abandon of the boy to his desire.  
"Hikaru …," FeiLong's voice was soft, slightly hoarse. The heat of his breath in the shell of the boy's ear was intoxicating.  
"Liu-sama ..." It was difficult even to talk, among those kisses that smelled of amber. It was even too difficult even to think.  
"FeiLong. It's FeiLong. Say it... ."  
"FeiLong ...," in a breath.  
The sea sang through the open window, while the impalpable fabric of the white cheongsam _slipped_ to the ground, and the yukata followed it, which got twisted around the foot of the piano.  
The hands of the older man _slid_ from the waist to the hips of the boy, and he lifted him to sit on the lid, which was closed on the keyboard.  
Hikaru's feet _slipped_ into the air, losing their contact with the ground, but in that world made only of sensations, the boy did not understand whether that sense of suspension was real or not.  
While FeiLong _slipped_ between the young man's legs, his tongue caressed, again and again, the lips of the pianist which, again and again, and again surrendered a thousand times to the older man.  
Drops of sweat fell along the boy's back, and long strands of black hair went down to caress the velvet, feverish skin of the pianist, and then lapped the surface of the piano, misted by the heat of their bodies.

The dim light of the moon projected onto the glossy top of the piano the unreal figure of two bodies that were melting. Their whiteness against the shiny black of the instrument was like sea foam floating on the dark waves of the night, and the groans on their lips were tunes of an ancient music.

"Hikaru ..? "  
The boy lay nestled against the body of his lover. His head was buried in the curve of FeiLong's neck, his thighs still supported on the older man hips, while his feet swung in the air and his hands were lost in the silky mass of the Chinese man's hair.  
"Hikaru, where is the bedroom ...?"  
"Hum... No, please, I want to stay here a little bit!" whispered the pianist with a whiny tone, and FeiLong smiled to hear again the whimsical, childish Hikaru.  
"As you wish, my love ..."  
"I love you…."

FeiLong winced when a feather-like kiss brushed his shoulder.  
Hikaru fingers began to move on the muscular back of the older man, fingers that played as if on the keys of the piano, dancing at the sound of silent music, or perhaps to the rhythm of the song of the sea outside the window, which roared down below, in the small bay, down there, behind the curtains in the dark.

On the beach, that night, a man was standing on the seashore, and while the waves caressed his feet, his look sank in the black of night. That sea that he could not see in the dark, seemed almost unreal, an invisible and powerful force beyond the night.  
Because of the events that he could not forecast, his life was changed, and he could not do anything about it.

_You can't turn back time, just as you can't turn back the tides_.

The man risked that his life would end, but he never considered this a big problem.  
He had met a pair of very interesting people to "study".  
He smiled, but suddenly a very sharp pain struck him like a knife, and if it were not for the dark, someone would see the grimace of pain that blinks for an instant in those deep dark almond-shaped eyes, so in contrast with the blond locks of his hair.

º ¤ ø, ¸ ¸, ø ¤º°`°º¤ ø, ¸ The end (?) ° º ¤ ø, ¸ ¸, ø ¤º°`°º¤ ø, ¸


End file.
